All of Me
by Lonestarr
Summary: He loves her. She loves him. But someone doesn't love him loving her.
1. Past Forward

Disclaimer: I don't own "The Fairly Oddparents" (that'd be Butch Hartman, Frederator and Nickelodeon), though given what the show has mutated into, perhaps it's just as well.

Chapter 1 - Past Forward

(...Dimmsdale High...six years into the future...)

The halls are alive with the sounds of groaning, scuffling shoes against the floor, slamming lockers. In other words, the exact atmosphere for the first day of school.

One of the mouths doing the groaning belonged to Timmy Turner. He had just completed what he considered one of the best summers ever. The beach, the water park, the mall...and that didn't even factor in the escapades that came courtesy of his fairy godparents.

In his opinion, the only failing of the last couple of months - and what kept it from being _the_ best summer ever - was that his object of desire, Trixie Tang, was nowhere to be seen. The rumors had flown wildly about what happened to her: skydiving accident, pregnancy followed by impromptu abortion, confined to bed because of a nasty sunburn.

The brown-haired boy walks down the halls. He can't help but roll his eyes at all the 'welcome back' paraphernalia littering the walls. Like anyone was really looking forward to being back here, for another year of education.

Timmy turns a corner and notices a crowd of people gathered in the middle of the corridor talking excitedly. 'It must be something special to block the halls like this', he thought to himself.

The crowd breaks allowing Timmy to see what the big deal was.

And what a big deal.

It was a girl, but not like any Timmy had seen in his sixteen years. Her shimmering dark hair fell to the middle of her back. Her skirt was cut to mid- mid-thigh and from it came two of the longest, loveliest legs he'd ever witnessed. Okay, so he could only see her back, but it was still impressive.

He felt his pants grow increasingly tight as he stared at the young woman. She turned around to face him...and this move makes things worse for him. Puberty had been very kind to her...to say nothing of Dr. Louis Goldfarb, one of the best boob job men in the lower 48.

It would not have been unreasonable to say that her new 36DDs were a little...big on her, but Trixie's feeling was this: she'd grow into them. For the longest time, she was all about getting attention and her new..."additions" (which she colorfully nicknamed "Buttercup" and "Ilsa") would make sure she'd never go without it.

Timmy's jaw hung open at the sight, but given that a number of guys in the hallway shared his expression, he wasn't too worried about looking foolish.

He was unprepared for what happened next. Trixie walks in his direction. His eyes followed her every move: the swish of her hair, the bounce of her boobs, the sway of her hips. Unfortunately, as per usual, she didn't notice him. Timmy exhales in defeat.

Having witnessed the whole thing, another dark-haired girl, one of more modest...well, everything, heads to a room and throws the door open.

(...the ladies' room...)

The girl gazes into the mirror. She never much cared for the whole standards of beauty thing, but she had to admit...she was good-looking: neither a knockout nor unattractive. All in all, pretty average, but then, this is what Tootie Flanagan was used to. Except for height, she hadn't changed very much in appearance.

Her attitude was a different story. When freshman year rolled around, she came to the heart-breaking yet perfectly reasonable conclusion that the world would not end if Timmy didn't return her love. For two years, she forced herself to stand by and watch her true love lust (there was no other word, really) after Trixie. Instead of chasing after him or cornering him in some part of the school, she'd try instead chewing gum. (Fortunately, her braces had come off about the time her decision was made.) She went through a lot of gum.

She wipes a few tears from her eyes. A stern expression decorates her face.

(...the cafeteria...a couple of hours later...)

The room is, as usual, busy with the chatter of the students. The topics are varied: school work, crushes, debating the edibility of the lunches.

Speaking of lunch, Tootie, carrying a tray on her books, looks for an empty table at which to sit. She wasn't the most popular girl, but she valued her privacy. On her way to one at the opposite end of the lunch room, her eyes spot a distressing sight: Timmy gazing longingly at Trixie, even more than she, herself, used to do to him.

With an audible grunt, Tootie breaks away. After all, she didn't want to become nauseous _before_ eating her lunch.

(...the halls of Dimmsdale High...an hour later...)

Timmy rushes past students to his next class. How wonderful that he had classes on two different floors...on opposite sides of the school.

In his haste, he runs into Tootie, knocking her to the ground.

Without getting a good look at her face, he starts picking up the books she was holding. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Yeah. Sure. No problem." There is nothing in her voice that suggests she believes him.

He takes a good look at her. His eyes widen. "Tootie?"

"None other."

He stands to his feet. "Wow. You look nice."

"Back at you." She joins him.

"So...how are you doing?"

"Good."

Timmy rubs the back of his head.

"Do you have a...I mean, is there any...?"

"Are you trying to ask if I have a boyfriend?"

The boy sighs deeply. His eyes lock onto the floor. "Yes."

"Timmy, I've thought about this for a long time, and I..." She notices him looking at the floor. "Can I, at least, look you in the eyes when I say this?"

He meets her gaze.

"I've thought about this for a long time, and I have come to a conclusion: it's better for me to give up. For years, I tried to reach you; tried to make you realize that I will love you, no matter what. I tried to dig deep, beyond the layers of shallowness to the sweetness of the inner you. Then, it dawned on me...there _is_ no sweetness in you. You're just a hollow shell of a man, more content to think with his crotch than his heart or, Heaven forbid, his brain."

To her surprise, these words struck him deep. She could see it in her eyes, and the old her would've stopped long ago. But, she figured, he can't learn anything if the lessons are sugar-coated.

"I don't want you anymore. Yep, that's good news for you and Trixie. And please don't embarrass yourself by coming up to me with 'I've changed. I'm a better person.' You don't have it in you to change. I see that, now. Goodbye, Timmy."

As she walks away, the bell rings. It could've mattered less to Timmy. He never thought his heart could be broken by someone who not only loved him, but who he didn't even love back.

(...Dimmsdale High...one year later...)

Timmy stalks the hallways. Tootie's words weighed heavily on his mind throughout his junior year. At least once a day, he reflected on what she said.

Every so often, he shrugged off the insults and continued to pursue Trixie, and with just as much determination, she continued to ignore him. One day, he actually took the time to think about why he liked Trixie. Well, what's not to like? She's pretty and rich and...and...she's... It was at that moment that he realized...he was shallow. He cared solely for her looks and riches, and, really, how long can those last?

Timmy went on to think about his life: his relationships with his parents, his friends and his fairy godparents. He got the feeling that they all shared Tootie's opinion. The big difference being that she was the only one with the guts to tell him to his face.

Then it hit him like a sock full of D-cell batteries: Tootie. Sure, she wasn't rich, but she was - heck, _is_ - pretty, kind-hearted, affectionate (if a little too much), resourceful, loyal and honest.

She would make a great girlfriend, or rather, would _have_. 'I don't want you anymore.' This was going to be hard.

This year's classes wouldn't be a cakewalk, either: Calculus, World History, Advanced Physics. Good thing he was allowed a study hall period.

(...a classroom...)

Except for the teacher reading a newspaper, the room seems to be empty. One of the windows is open, allowing a stiff Autumn breeze to dance in. Timmy takes a seat toward the back and rifles through his notebook. So busy is he with his work, he fails to notice the dark-haired girl walk into the room. She doesn't seem to notice him, either.

The girl takes a seat near the front. She adjusts her glasses and opens a textbook.

Timmy looks up at the girl. He squints at her a little, almost like he knows her. His subsequent shrug suggests otherwise as he returns to his work.

The girl grabs herself and shudders a little. She raises her hand.

"Um, do you mind if I close the window? It's really cold."

At hearing the girl's voice, Timmy is snapped out of his study-induced stupor.

He looks at the brunette as she walks to the window and close it. She turns toward her desk, allowing him a good look at her face. It's Tootie!

Timmy couldn't believe that the fates were so kind to allot him this opportunity. She sits in her desk and returns to her notes. Fortunately for him, the overseeing teacher was merely concerned with the quiet of his charges. The young man gathered his belongings and crept quietly toward her.

With as much subtlety as he could muster, he slid into the seat behind her. His breathing was low as he gently poked her shoulder with a pencil.

She turns around, and turns back. "Oh. It's you."

"Yeah. Hi. Can I talk to you?"

Her eyes are on her book. "You're doing it now, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Well, I've thought - a lot - about what you said to me last year. You were absolutely right. There's no excuse for the way I've acted in my life, and...I would like a chance to make it up to you if I can."

She places her book down and turns around in her chair. "Timmy, do you even know what you're apologizing for?"

"Yes!" The teacher looks up from his paper. "Yes", he says, quieter. "I'm apologizing for being so shallow; for being so blind. For...well, for being a bastard to you all these years."

"I want so much to believe you, but, for some reason, I can't. There's too much history between us to just up and accept an apology from you."

"Tootie..."...turns around and focuses on the text.

Timmy can't help but sigh at her cold-shoulder.

(...outside Dimmsdale High...a few hours later...)

The students exit the building en masse. Tootie, one of the first ones out, sits under a tree and opens a book. The buses were going to leave in a matter of minutes, but she felt like walking home, anyway. A shadow soon casts over her. She looks up at the source.

Timmy stands before her, his hands in his pockets. Tootie puts her book down and glares at him. "Who'd have ever thought that you'd end up stalking me?"

No response.

"Maybe I should get myself a restraining order, only this time, it'll stick." She would not mask the venomous tone in her voice.

He waves. "Hello. I'm Timmy Turner."

"What is it you think you're doing?"

"Introducing myself. Isn't that what people do when they first meet?"

"Are you touched or something? We've known each other for years!"

"Yeah, but that was a bad relationship. I want us to start over. I want to know you as you are now, and I want you to know me as I am now."

The brunette stared at him for quite some time. As stern as she was with him, she had to admit that a part of her - smaller now than in the past - wanted him in her life. If this was the way to do it, fine.

"What do you say, miss?"

She stands up and shakes his hand. "I'm Virginia Flanagan, but everyone calls me 'Tootie'."

"I have the feeling that this will be a great friendship."

She jerks his hand and pulls him close. "But know this, Timmy Turner: this is all it will be. We'll be the best of friends and nothing more. Understood?"

He nods. "I understand."

(...Timmy's bedroom...eight months later...)

Throughout the rest of the year, Timmy and Tootie grew quite close. Whenever they were bored, in need of a sympathetic ear or struggling in their school work (this was mainly his problem), they were there for each other.

He didn't know what to think when Tootie asked him to accompany her to the senior prom. The prom was mainly for couples, and she was adamant about the platonic nature of their relationship. She had been asked out last week by Ross Magner, second baseman on the school's baseball team. Unfortunately for her, something came up; his grandmother fell deathly ill. She didn't want to stay home, and going to prom alone was not a viable option for her.

Timmy looked at himself in the mirror wearing his rented tuxedo. He takes a breath and walks out the door.

(...a gymnasium...thirty minutes later...)

The lighting. The dancing students. The throbbing music. The gaudy decorations. This is the senior prom, all right. There is a special set-up for couples to take their pictures, so that they'll remember this night for years to come.

Timmy stands next to Tootie and offers up a smile. However, the photographer - a woman in her fifties - doesn't share his attitude.

"What is this?"

Timmy's happiness quickly turns into confusion. "What do you mean?"

"This is supposed to be a night to remember, and you're both so...stiff."

Tootie sighs. "Well, what do _you_ suggest?"

"Young man, stand behind your girlfriend, like at an angle."

He obliges, but... "She's not my gir--"

"Put your arms around her waist."

He shrugs and follows her instructions. Tootie looks at him, then at the photographer.

"Now, give us a smile."

The two of them hesitate a bit before smiling. The flash goes off. Timmy rubs his eyes because of the brightness. Tootie leads him away.

"These should be ready in a week. Enjoy the prom."

"Ma'am, just to clarify something, she's not my girlfriend. She's my _best _friend."

"Too bad. You make a cute couple."

As the two of them walk toward the general population, Timmy reflects on the older woman's words. They could've been a cute couple, before he screwed things up with his selfishness. What a horrible thing it is for people to know regret.

Tootie's eyes widen when she gets to the dance floor. Ross' grandmother must've been doing better than expected, because there he was on the dance floor...with Sharon Paul - his (supposedly) ex-girlfriend. The way they were carrying on, one would think they never split up. This night is just full of surprises.

Timmy sees what she's looking at. His friend was livid, her expression suggesting that several acts of violence were forthcoming.

He takes her hand and blocks her view of her 'date'. "Forget about him. You're here to have fun."

Tootie sighs. "Yeah. To hell with him. Wanna dance?"

"But I don't know how."

"Just keep up with me and don't step on my feet."

"I can do that."

As the music changes to a slower tune, the friends walk on to the dance floor. Many of the other students, disenchanted by the melody, walk to their seats.

Timmy takes Tootie's hands and glide across the floor. Her 'just friends' rule fresh in his mind, he is careful not to get too close, but she narrows the gap between them. He shrugs and puts his hands behind her. Timmy feels a sudden pain in his head. He stops and puts his hand up.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Just a little sting. It's probably nothing."

She notices his hand on her back. He quickly removes it.

He smiles nervously. "Sorry."

"That's okay."

The two continue dancing.

(...outside the gymnasium...)

The moon shines brightly through the skylight of the gym. Looking down on the two teenagers is Cosmo and Wanda. About a month ago, they had to leave their godchild behind; the onset of adulthood and all. But there was nothing in Da Rules that said they couldn't watch over him. The pink-haired fairy had a feeling that, sooner or later, there would be a meeting to discuss this rule, but for now, she wanted to take in the heart-warming sight.

"Oh, they look so nice together, don't they, Cosmo?"

"Yes, they do, kind of like bacon and eggs. Peanut butter and bananas, or..."

She takes his hands. "...you and me. Don't I look lovely in this light?"

"No. You look lovely in _any_ light."

She smiles and the two of them take off into the stars.

(...a dorm room...two years later...)

Timmy was able to improve his grades enough to attend Dimmsdale University. Given how much things had changed, he felt he had to leave home. He made a promise to not be selfish, and living at home during this time was, to him, pretty selfish. Plus, he wanted to get out more.

On this night, though, he decided to stay in and study. College courses were much harder than the young man had anticipated. His eyes were deep in a thick book. The subject of this book: The History of Flight. There was a paper due on it in a week.

Timmy's concentration is interrupted by a knock at the door.

He gets up from his bed and heads to the door. On the other side of it is Tootie. She stands before him in tears. She walks in, sits in a chair and buries her face in her hands.

"Would you like to come in?" He closes the door.

He approaches her with caution; given her current state, there's no telling how she might react.

"Tootie, are you o-- No, that's stupid. What happened?"

She raises her head. "You know that frat party at the Theta House?"

"Yeah."

"Well, one of the guys led me up there and...he...he tried to..." Another outburst of tears prevents her from finishing. "I thought he was really interested in me; in what I had to say." Tootie was one of the school paper's finest writers. If nothing else, this would make a hell of a story.

Timmy grabs a couple of Kleenex from the night stand and gives them to her. "Please don't cry. When you're feeling better, you can report the bastard to the police. Better still, you could point the guy out to me and I'll kick his ass."

"Timmy...that's sweet, but I need someone with me. The girls I went to the party with were long gone, and I couldn't think of anyone else."

"Thanks."

Timmy sits on his bed. With his eyes to the floor, he doesn't notice the hungry look in her dried eyes. He looks toward the chair, only to find Tootie right in his face.

"Um...what are you doing?"

"Timmy...I tried to help myself, I really did, but...I was still mad at you. It was so nice to finally be friends with you, but deep down, I wanted more. You've been a perfect gentleman these last few years, and I'll always respect that. But...I guess I had to make the first move."

"Tootie, are you feeling all right?"

"It's just that this experience - and a bunch of others, I guess - has opened my eyes. I love you, Timmy."

The brunette knocks him onto his back and crawls onto him. She kisses him on his lips, his forehead, his ears and his neck. Attributing this to the traumatic experience she just went through, he keeps his hands in the air. She sees this and forces the extremities down to his sides.

The amorous onslaught continues and Timmy manages to resist...until Tootie nibbles on his ear. In spite of the sudden pain in his head, he decides to counter with his own kisses.

"Timmy?", she whispers.

"Yes, Tootie?"

"I don't want us to be apart."

"Don't worry. We won't."

She raises her head. "Timmy?"

"Yes?"

"Why is there a box of Kleenex on the night stand next to your bed?"

Timmy grimaces a little, then smiles. "It's my roommate's."


	2. The Good Life?

Chapter 2 - The Good Life?

(...an office building...twelve years later...)

People are sitting at desks. No surprise, there. Some of these people are on the phone, while others type away on computers. Such is the life of a processing company. One of the cogs in this living, breathing machine is Tim Turner. He checks over a number of papers at his desk. If the look on the young man's face is anything to go by, they seem to be a bit confusing.

An older man walks by the desk and spots Tim's bewilderment.

"Hey, there, Turner. How goes it?"

"Not so good, Mr. Hamilton. I've been over these reports for the last couple hours and I can't make heads or tails of them."

"Well, it's not so difficult. They're just your basic APS reports. Been doing these for years."

"Yeah, but...it's like they've somehow gotten harder."

"It's no problem. Whatever can't be done here, you'll have plenty of time to work on it at home. Carry on."

Tim slouches in his chair. "Great", he states, lifelessly. The APS reports were never a big deal for him; analyze the progress (if any) in the documents, make sure everything adds up. What he wouldn't give for a break, right now. His attention shifts to the window on the far wall to his left.

(...a classroom...)

About thirty high school students sit at their desks. The ones that are still awake chatter about whatever topic strikes them as worthy. Unsurprisingly, school is not among the topics.

The sound of chalk scraping against the chalkboard gains their attention and ceases the chatter. It manages to rouse the sleepers, as well. The noise is also uncomfortable to the young woman doing the scraping.

She stops and looks at the stick. "I've got to get quieter chalk."

In the upper right hand corner of the board reads 'Mrs. Turner'. The dark-haired woman moves away from the board to reveal the words 'Edgar Allan Poe'.

"Now, who can tell me about Edgar Allan Poe?"

One of the students - something of a cute-but-flighty type - raises her hand. "Um, he was this guy who, like, wrote these really dark stories."

"That's...right. Poe's literary taste ran toward the macabre with such stories as 'The Tell-tale Heart' and 'The Cask of Amontillado'. Now, open your books to page 322. 'The Raven' is, perhaps, Poe's most-known work."

The students open their books.

The woman adjusts her glasses. "Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping as of some gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door..."

Mrs. Turner continues to read from her text. She and a few of the students seem to be getting into it. The rest are sleeping or too bored to care. This didn't matter very much to her; she was dedicated to shaping young minds, even if a fraction out of 30 were allowing it to happen.

Teaching isn't the most glamorous of professions, a theory that the salary can uphold, but it is one where a difference can be made. Some of these students could change the world as doctors, lawyers, police officers and even teachers, while others might end up still confused as to the meaning of 'macabre'.

Having finished the poem, Mrs. Turner puts the book down.

"Now, who can tell me what, if anything, the Raven represented to the protagonist?"

(...a house...many hours later...)

A girl of about fourteen walks through the beautifully appointed dwelling. She makes her way down the stairs and into the living room.

"Uhhhh. Where could they be?", she groaned to no one in particular.

She tucks a lock of dirty blonde hair behind her ear before crouching to the floor. She lifts up the flap of the couch. Nothing but dust bunnies and loose change.

The girl stands back up and sees what looks like a shadow rushing away. She follows it to a closet. Her hand reaches out and grabs the doorknob.

"Got you now."

The sound of another door opening gets her attention.

The girl rushes to greet the person. "Hello, Mr. Turner." The smile on her face, the sugar in her voice; Eddie Haskell couldn't have done better.

"Hello, Ashley."

"How have you been?"

Tim drops his briefcase. "Exhausted."

"That's too bad." The blonde looks over to the still-open front door. "Hello, Mrs. Turner."

The brunette woman walks in and sets her briefcase on the couch. She embraces her husband. "Hey, stranger."

"Hey, stranger's wife." She closes the door with her foot.

As they kiss, two kids - a dark-haired boy and a brown-haired girl - run out. "Mommy, Daddy--euwwww!"

The adults crouch down and hug their children. "Thomas. Violet. Did you have fun with Ashley, today?"

The boy speaks up. "Well, we--"

Ashley steps in front of him. "We were playing a game of hide and seek." ...or, rather, 'search and destroy'. Dear Ashley had the children do the dishes. When she checked on their progress, they splashed her with water. Sure, she had managed to dry off, but it still made her upset. The last half-hour or so was basically Ashley looking for the children. Unfortunately for her, they were masters at 'hide and seek'.

"Hide and seek, huh? Sounds like fun", exclaims Mrs. Turner.

"I think it might be time for you to head on home, Ashley."

"Certainly, Mr. Turner." The girl doesn't seem to move. She clears her throat.

"Oh, right." The man pulls out his wallet and hands the girl a ten dollar bill. She eyes the bill elatedly. "Have a nice day." With a salute, Ashley walks out of the house.

"Mommy, Daddy, Ashley made us do the dishes", Thomas stated.

"We got some water on her and she got really mad at us."

The man takes off his coat. "Oh, you kids."

"Don't you believe us?", Violet pleads, on the verge of crying.

"Sure, we do." As Tim walks to the closet, he stubs his foot on his briefcase. He yelps and picks it up.

"Oh, that reminds me: I have papers to grade."

"And these reports need to be looked over."

The adults grab their briefcases and head off in different directions.

"Get to your room, you two. Dinner will be ready...momentarily."

The children walk up the stairs sadly. The door closes.

(...Thomas and Violet's bedroom...)

As one would expect, the room bears the markings of two eight-year-olds having to share their living space. Comic books, dolls, stuffed animals, action figures. The one unusual feature is a clear hamster cage sitting on a dresser. In it are two hamsters milling about; one pink and one green.

Thomas trudges in, followed by Violet. The kids crawl onto their beds and lie down.

The hamsters look to each other.

"Ready, Cosmo?"

"Ready, Wanda."

With a flash, the hamsters become fairies, floating in the air. They take notice of their weary charges.

Wanda flies closer to the floor. "Oh, what's the matter, kids?"

Violet sits up. "Our babysitter. She's mean."

"Yeah. She made us wash the dishes. They weren't even dirty!"

"Where were you?"

"Well, you see, there was something really urgent that needed to be taken care of."

"More urgent than helping us?", Thomas inquires.

Wanda was understandably reluctant to tell their godchildren why she and her husband weren't there for them. It was no accident that they ended up together. The truth was that she and Cosmo missed Timmy dearly. They couldn't always watch over him; eventually, they would have to be re-assigned to new children.

The pink-haired fairy knew deep down that Timmy would follow his heart and find the right girl...and that they would, one day, have children. For years, the two of them were bounced from godchild to godchild, each one meaner than the last. Though it seemed selfish to want this (something she wasn't very proud of), she would hope that Timmy's children would be in need of fairy godparents.

Then, six months ago, a girl named Ashley came by selling candy for a school fund raiser. Tim ended up with eight dollars of peanut butter bars and she got a steady after-school gig. Not a bad trade-off. Unfortunately, the longer she was at it, the more it became about the cash. Terrorize the kids when they didn't do what she said, make nice with the adults - like two sides of the same coin. She'd have quite a future as an actress. This was the opportunity Wanda was looking for. An old friend of hers from the Fairy Academy made sure that she and Cosmo would watch over the two of them.

The urgency was to make sure that the files on the new assignment were kept safe; it seems more than a little suspicious that the same godparents would watch over a boy and, later, his children.

In spite of the machinations done to attain this, Cosmo and Wanda loved Thomas and Violet as much as Timmy, if not more.

Wanda's expression changes from nervous to one of gentle concern.

"Oh, sweetie, there was just something that had to be taken care of."

Cosmo floats beside his wife. "But everything's all right now...isn't it?"

"Everything's great." She turns back to the children. "I know what would cheer you up."

"Granting some wishes?", the kids replied together.

"Yeah!"


	3. Quality Time

Chapter 3 - Quality Time

(...Thomas and Violet's bedroom...a couple of hours later...)

A trampoline. A flying horse. Freshly-bloomed flowers. A bear on a unicycle. Discounting the half-hour for dinner, the time has been spent bringing these things into the bedroom, wished for by the children. Well...child, anyway.

"Come on! Why won't you have fun with me?" The eight-year-old's voice was filled with elation as they bounced on the trampoline.

"Yeah." Cosmo floats next to the sibling on the bed. "You only get to be eight once in your life. Why not make it reckless and memorable?"

"If I wish for something, I want it to be useful. I don't want to waste it."

"Oh, sweetie, that's one of the best things about having fairies: there are no wasteful wishes." Sure, there were stupid ones, ones made in haste and, of course, dangerous ones, but, in Wanda's mind, if the experience caused by the wish taught the child something valuable, it couldn't possibly count as 'wasteful'.

"Oh, come on, Thomas. Don't be a wet blanket." Violet continues to bounce, her ponytailed brown hair swaying.

To know Thomas and Violet - really know them - is to understand this: though they were twins, they were nothing alike. Never mind the obvious differences, like gender. About two months ago, the privilege of fairy godparents was bestowed upon the children. Violet is a carefree, take-things-as-they-come type. She was more than anxious to see what she could do with this gift. Thomas, on the other hand, belongs to the school of look-before-you-leap. Whenever he made a wish, he wanted to make sure it was something he really wanted. The fairies were amazed at how responsible the boy was; nothing at all like his father.

Thomas puts his hand to his chin. "Though...I never really got dessert." In spite of his manner, he had something that all kids possessed: a sweet tooth.

Wanda perked up. "I think I know where this is going."

"I wish I had a hot-fudge sundae!" And faster than one could say 'Haagen-Daas', a sundae (in a dish, natch) appeared in the boy's hands.

From her bed, Violet noticed the tasty treat her brother was enjoying.

"I wish I had a hot-fudge sundae..." Cosmo raises his wand. "...as big as me!" Before Violet's eyes, a sundae appears. Dripping with chocolate, covered in nuts, topped with whipped cream - truly the dessert of dreams.

Thomas' gaze floats to the mammoth frozen treat next to his sister, then looks to his normal-sized sundae. He hops off his bed and walks to the giant sundae.

"That looks good."

"Yes, it is", Violet says between spoonfuls.

"Can I have some?"

"I don't know. This is my sundae, after all."

"Violet...please?" By this point, his hands are folded.

"Hmmm...nah. Not unless you admit that I am the greatest big sister in the history of forever." Thomas groans. Arrive three and a half minutes late to the party and you pay for it the rest of your life.

"Well...?"

"You're the greatest big sister in the history of forever."

"Thank you. Dig in."

The siblings consume the snack with great enthusiasm. They soon stop and rub their foreheads in a panic.

"Brain freeze!"

__

"Are you two getting ready for bed?"

The kids look to the door. "Whoa! We wish this stuff was gone."

A wave of the wands sends the stuff into thin air. Thomas and Violet hop into their beds. The door opens, and in walks Tim.

"You two sure sounded excited just now. Anything you wanna tell me?"

The children give each other a look, then address their father. "No."

Tim puts the covers on Violet. "Good night, Violet." He kisses her on her forehead.

He turns to Thomas. "Good night, Thomas." He hugs him and tucks him in.

The man walks to the door and turns off the light. He lingers in the doorway for a while. This was his room as a kid. His parents were all too gracious about giving him the old house. He didn't wish to impose, but they'd already sold it and were Florida-bound, so, what the hey? His gaze drifts around the room. In between the twins' beds was a dresser with a hamster cage. Inside the plastic container were two hamsters; a pink one and a green one. The two of them were asleep, and one of them seemed to be holding a nickel. Tim shakes his head and closes the door.

(...the living room...)

Tim walks down the stairs and sits on the couch, letting one leg touch the floor. As he gets settled, Virginia walks in.

"Well, the dishes are done."

"And the kids are in bed."

"Now's as good a time as any to relax." She sits at the opposite end of the couch and stretches her arms out.

"Honey..."

"Yes?"

Tim motions to the area in front of him. "Have a seat."

"Are you kidding?"

"Please?"

She gives him a smirk and settles onto him almost like a cushion. "I can't say no to you."

"So that's why we've been together for so long." She elbows him in the gut.

"How was your day?"

"Kind of rough. I've been doing APS reports for years, and all of a sudden, it's like I just...blanked on how to get them done. I managed to get them done a few minutes ago, but still..."

"That sounds unusual. Perhaps, you were just tired. How did you sleep?"

"Fine." Tim shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. Maybe, I'm just burned out or something. So, how was your day?"

"Not too bad. I was going over Edgar Allan Poe. Some of the kids seem to get it, but others...I think I'd have an easier time teaching Japanese to a chimpanzee."

"You know, I read somewhere that that was actually done."

"Get out."

"No, really. The key was finding a way to relate the material."

"That might work. How about if I went in tomorrow and..." Virginia affects a high, somewhat vacant voice. "'Um, yeah, Edgar Allan Poe was this, like, really depressed dude who wrote these, like, really dark stories and poems, you know?" She twirled a lock of her hair for effect.

"Now, that's impressive."

"Thank you."

"It's too bad that you were lost to substitute teaching. You could be a great impressionist."

"A nice thought, but you can't change the world with impressions."

"You're probably right." Tim kisses Virginia's ear.

"What was that for?"

"For what you put up with; for making a difference. Teachers don't get too much recognition."

She sighs. "They certainly don't get kissed for it."

"Which is good; it might not mean the same coming from a student."

The two of them laugh.

"By the way, good move on the hamsters. The kids really seem to like them."

"Thanks, Tim, but I didn't get them. I thought you did."

"Well, one of us must've gotten them. They couldn't have appeared out of nowhere."

Unaware to the two adults, a pair of vibrant pink eyes watched from the darkness. A heartfelt sigh comes from the direction of the stare.

(...the office...the next day...)

Tim sits at his desk, typing on the computer. He glances at some papers. "...all right, so this leads to form 'T', and that brings me back to statement 'D', sub-heading 'O'." More clacking of keys. "And now..." He rifles through some papers. "...for statement 'Phe', sub-heading 'Phi', sub-sub-heading 'Pho'..."

Tim grabs his head. "Ahhhh!" He tries to massage the pain away, but it's not going so easily. His other hand joins the battle. He puts his head down and resumes the caress. By now, some of Tim's office mates are transfixed by his misery. One of them rushes over.

"Hey, are you okay?" A stupid question, sure, but one can't help asking out of habit.

Instead of glaring at the well-meaning woman, Tim rears back and gives out a yell, his hands still at his head.

(...the Turner home...many hours later...)

Tim stumbles in, looking somewhat haggard. Virginia rushes up to him.

"Hey, stranger."

Tim offered no response as he passed her by and plopped down on the couch.

"You're probably wondering why I'm home early. Well, someone called in a bomb threat - though, not in my class, thankfully. It kinda wrecked my lesson plan, but it needed revising, anyway." The brunette gets a good look at her husband. "Good Lord, what happened to you?"

She walks over. "I had the worst headache at work."

"But you're fine now, right?" Virginia sits next to him.

He puts his hand to his head. "Yeah, I feel better."

"I think you should stay home tomorrow."

"Because of a little headache?"

She raises her voice "What if it's symptomatic of something serious? I don't want you to die on the job...and even less, a job like this."

If Tim had any reason to complain about his wife, it was her constant worrying over his well-being. At times, it seemed that she cared more about him than he did...and more about him than herself. Yep, some things never change. "Virginia, I'm fine."

"But--" Tim puts his index finger over her lips. He gives her a smile.

"This is no problem. Down the line, I'll take care of it. I promise." His fingertip leaves her mouth.

"All right, Mr. Tough Guy. You win. But if something happens to you..."

"Nothing will happen to me."


	4. Trix is for Kids

Chapter 4 - Trix is for Kids

(...a break room...the next day...)

A microwave. A coffee maker. A soda machine. A table with chairs. Ah, the amenities afforded to the employees taking a rest from their work.

Tim sits at the table. In the years that he's worked here, he can count on one hand the number of times it had been purely white. As much as he respected the people with who he worked, he had to admit that they could be real slobs, sometimes.

He takes a sip from the can of cola he purchased and silently muses. These headaches he suffered varied in magnitude. Sometimes, they could be mild annoyances, but they were quite painful at other times. And figuring out the cause was a headache in itself. Except for the occasional cold, Tim's been the picture his health his whole life.

Just then, an unfolded newspaper is slid under him. His eyes transfix on a picture. The young woman in the picture has her hands in the air and her mouth open, most likely screaming for joy. The caption reads 'Jet-setting party girl set to come home'.

"Check that out." It was Trixie Tang. Tim hadn't thought about her in many years. With Virginia at his side, there was no need to.

Tim averts his eyes from the paper. "Uh, yeah, that's nice", not a trace of interest in his voice.

"Nice? That's Trixie freakin' Tang! Have you been living under a rock!" _Yes; a damn comfortable one, _Tim thought to himself. He knew that Harry Reese, the guy engaging him in...let's call it conversation, was something of a ladies' man and would love nothing more than to enjoy the company of Miss Tang. Tim felt it wise not to let on that he knew her because, his great family aside, Harry looked like just the type of person who would ride him for his affections. ("Did you hit that?" "Did you _ever_ hit that?" "Why didn't you hit that!"...and so on.)

Tim tugs at his collar. "I guess I don't really follow people in the field of...wait, what does she do?"

Tim takes a sip. "Well, Trixie's incredibly rich."

"Yes, but what does she do?"

"She travels the world flaunting her status."

"That really doesn't sound very substantial."

A snort escapes Harry's lips. "Maybe if you knew her better, you'd see the good she provides."

Tim knew he wasn't going to get a straight (or remotely satisfying) answer out of Harry. He checks his watch. "Oh, man, look at the time." He gulps down the last of his soda. "I gotta get back to work." Tim rushes back to his desk.

(...the streets of Dimmsdale...hours later...)

Tim turned the steering wheel, sending his car around a corner. It was the end of the work day, meaning that he'd be happy. Unfortunately...

'_The good she provides_'! He knew that letting little things like this get to him would be most detrimental to his day, but he couldn't help it. Although he managed to get his work done, he was incredibly annoyed at that statement. A lot of the people Tim went to school with still felt that Trixie Tang was this incredible person, though they were either envious of her lifestyle or thinking with their...twigs. Having been more smitten with her than most, he knew all too well that 'Trixie' and 'good' had no business sharing the same language, let alone a sentence.

He shakes his head as he thinks back to a time in his life...

(...a cafeteria...fifteen years ago...)

Timmy sits hunched over at a table. The plastic fork in his hand pokes at the chili on his tray. At least, he was sure it was chili.

He straightens up and the back of his head bumps into a pair of water balloons. Some of these seniors were merciless, to say nothing of unsubtle. He turns around to find that the water balloons are wrapped in fleece...and that they aren't balloons at all.

"Hello, Tommy." Trixie.

Timmy gulps. "H-hhhh-h-hi."

"May I sit down?" She's in the seat next to him before his lips move.

"I think you know the junior prom is tomorrow night, don't you?" With the flyers papering the hallways and the daily announcements ("The junior prom is coming! Don't be the only loser without a date!"), it was hard to miss. She rests her right hand on his leg. He nods dumbly.

"Do you have anyone to go with?" He shakes his head. Her other hand finds his arm. It's a good thing her right hand is closer to his knee. Otherwise, both hands would be meeting his face with a vengeance.

"Oh, good. I was wondering if you...if you might...oh, I'm not very good at this."

Her face moves closer to his, their noses touching. Timmy can smell exactly where her perfume was applied.

"Would you like to...drive me to the prom?"

"Oh, I'd love to--what?"

"Oh, Tommy, I knew you'd help me. My regular driver came down with the flu and I heard you were a pretty good driver." Indeed, he was; his road test went off without a hitch...and being coached by a pair of fairies didn't hurt.

(...the streets of Dimmsdale...the following night...)

Given the expression on his face, Timmy still couldn't believe this was happening. Him, in a limousine, with Trixie Tang...going to the prom. Granted, her and her rich friends were in the back without a care in the world and he was in the driver's seat, but--no. He had wanted to be close to Trixie, to go out with her, to enjoy her company, not be a substitute chauffeur.

His mind reeled at the other possibilities that she might seduce him into doing: blowing off college to travel, partaking in something like skinny-dipping...then leaving him in the middle of nowhere or killing off her husband in an insurance fraud scam. Sure, he was being paid for his services ($50 and "the pleasure of my company", in her own words), but he kind of felt like he ought to be giving her money. After all, she did provide him with a mild (and momentary) parody of satisfaction.

(...the streets of Dimmsdale...)

Tim turns another corner, the memory fresh in his mind. He soon gains a surprising feeling of...wistfulness, and why not? You're driving down the road, things are going pretty well for you, and then, a tree leaps out in front of you and...a tree!

Tim snaps out of it in time to grab the wheel and steer away from the tree. Unfortunately, the force is such that the rear of the car jumps the curb and slams into it. He spins around and allows himself a breath. He turns back, only to be greeted by the deploying airbag. There's nothing like American cars.

(...outside the Turner home...twenty minutes later...)

Tim pulls into the driveway. Virginia's car isn't there yet. Wonderful. He takes out a remote control and points it at the garage. The door opens and Tim drives in.

(...the Turner home...)

Tim walks inside. It's quiet. The twins must be asleep. There was no sign of Ashley; probably a family crisis. He closes the door and looks around. His eyes find a picture hanging on the wall.

He and Virginia are on the beach, laughing and holding each other. He remembers asking a stranger to take a picture of the two of them. This was about a year after college. Tim gazes at the photo longingly. He stares at Virginia in her bikini top and sarong. She looked like some kind of goddess.

His head starts to throb. He falls to the floor, yelling in pain. He grabs his head.

The front door opens. Virginia walks in. "Hi, Tim. I--" A yell cuts her off.

She rushes to her husband. She grabs his hand and tries to lift him to his feet. "I'm taking you to a hospital."

"Nn-nnnooo."

"What?"

"I don't...ahhh...need a hospital."

"Tim, this is for your own good."

The man unsnags his hand from hers by applying a whip-like motion to his arm.

"Virginia, I'm fine."

"But not 30 seconds ago, you were--"

Two pairs of footsteps can be heard pattering down the stairs.

"Mommy! Daddy!" There is fear in Violet's voice.

"Are you alright?", Thomas asks with nervous concern.

"Your father...he's..."

Tim stands proudly. "...feelin' fine."

"But we heard..."

"Just stubbed my toe. It's no big deal. Now, go back to your rooms."

The kids oblige their father. Virginia glares at him.

"How could you lie to them like that?"

"Why create a panic? Things are fine, now."

"Tim..."

He puts his hands on her shoulders.

"You worry too much. Whatever happens, I can handle it."

He walks toward the closet. The brunette can't help but stare at her husband. First, he's convulsing, and now, he's pretending nothing happened. Something doesn't add up.


	5. Daddy Fearest

Chapter 5 - Daddy Fearest

(...Thomas and Violet's room...the next morning...)

The kids pack their bookbags. Granted, there isn't a whole lot to pack for third grade, but one has to be prepared.

Violet slips her arms through the straps of the sack. "Daddy sure was acting strange last night."

Cosmo floats in front of her. "Well, that's your dad for you." He puts his hand to his chin. "I remember a time when he--"

"Cosmo!" Before he can complete his thought, Wanda flies beside him and wraps her hand around his mouth. Somehow or another, he always had a way of opening his mouth a little too wide.

A lot of people wondered how she could stay with him for so very long. Look at him. He's no sheik, that's not much of a physique, and Lord knows he ain't got the smarts. But that twinkle in his eyes. His loyalty. The way he knows how to make her laugh (even when it's usually at his own expense). There are some things a girl can't quite explain.

"Honey, there's no need for you to bore the kids with uninteresting stories like these." It was part of 'Da Rules': they couldn't come out and say that one of their former godchildren happened to be the kids' father. She takes her hand from his mouth.

"I guess you're right. Besides, they get plenty of that in school."

This remark elicited giggles from the children.

Wanda sighs a bit. "Well, you two had better get going. The bus driver won't wait, you know?"

(...the kitchen...ten minutes later...)

Virginia stands at the counter packing wrapped sandwiches into a pair of brown bags. Tim sits at the table drinking coffee. The kids finish their bowls of cereal and put the containers in the sink. They stand up and head for the door.

"Whoa." The twins stop. "Don't forget your lunches." She presents the bags to her children. "Here you are, kids: ham and swiss for you, Thomas, and PB and J for you, Violet."

"Thanks, Mommy", they reply in unison.

A beeping noise from outside disrupts the tranquil mood.

"There's the bus."

"No kidding. See you later, Mommy, Daddy". Thomas and Violet rush out the door. Virginia watches from inside the doorway and waves. She closes the door and walks to the counter.

She pours a cup of coffee and sits down at the table.

"So, how are you feeling today?"

Tim doesn't answer. He probably didn't hear her. She reaches her hand to his arm. "How are you--" He jerks the extremity back. Shock is present on both of their faces.

"How are you feeling?" In spite of what just happened, Virginia figures that there's no harm in trying again.

"I'm feeling just fine, considering that people love asking me pointless questions first thing in the morning."

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to know how you were."

"And now you do: fine. You know, if you'd baby me less and trust me more, things'd go smoother around here."

"Hey. There's no need to--" A slam on the table cuts her off.

"Would you please just stop talking? For God's sake, what is so wrong with drinking a cup of coffee in peace? Can you tell me that?"

Tim glances to the clock on the wall. He finishes off his coffee and stands up. "Well, I gotta get going. My crappy job and all." He grabs his briefcase and heads for the door...without even so much as a goodbye kiss, let alone a 'goodbye'.

Virginia couldn't help but gaze; what had just happened? Over the course of their marriage, they'd had a number of arguments, mainly of a financial nature, but they each somehow managed to stop themselves from saying anything too rash. What Tim told her just now...such a nasty response to such an innocent question.

She isn't sure of what's happening, but she knows for a fact that things are definitely not fine.

(...the teacher's lounge...a few hours later...)

Virginia was distracted for much of the school day; she couldn't get Tim's outburst out of her head. Unlike other days when she was able to let the lessons flow from her lips, she stammered and stumbled. Plus, her voice got unusually high at some points. Not since childhood had she suffered that malady.

She sat on the couch with her hands in her lap. A tear falls down her face. Then another. And a few more.

Not even the door opening and closing could rouse her.

"Those kids and their..." The husky older woman notices Virginia. "What's the matter, Gin?" In the year and a half she taught at the school, Virginia wasn't fond of the nickname that Felicia Hunter, the gym teacher, had given to her, and she made every attempt to correct the well-meaning woman. Now, though, she was too down in the mouth to offer any defense.

"Well, I had an argument with Tim. My husband, you know?" Ms. Hunter did, but vaguely; whoever she talked to, she usually dominated the conversations.

"Tim...Tim. Oh, yeah, Tim." In the midst of Felicia's re-collection, Virginia wipes her eyes.

"I was only trying to help him and he just...tore into me. That's never happened before. The two of us...we've had such a great marriage. I don't know what's wrong."

Felicia sits next to the younger woman. "Let me tell you: any marriage without a few bumps, there's something wrong." Virginia whimpers a little. "Okay, not really helping. Sorry. I'm sure that Tim still loves you. He's probably going through some stuff right now." Having slogged through three marriages in two decades, Ms. Hunter had a feeling she knew what she was talking about.

"He _has_ been acting unusual the last couple of days."

"I figure he just needs time to work through it." She puts her hand on Virginia's shoulder.

"What do you suggest, a marriage counselor?"

"More like a psychologist." Felicia reaches into her pocket and pulls out a few cards. She flips through them and hands one to Virginia.

"I don't know. Just sending him to a shrink...it seems a little extreme. Although..." She allows her mind to recall the tiff. "...is she any good?"

"She did wonders for my cousin. He had such an inferiority complex. A few sessions with her..." Felicia snaps her fingers for effect. "...he's feeling much better."

"But what if he doesn't want to go?"

The older woman sighs. "How comfortable are you with little white lies?"

Virginia looks at the card and puts it in her briefcase. The bell rings. The brunette gets up and walks to the door. "Oh, thank you, Ms. Hunter--"

"Please, Gin. Felicia."

"Felicia. This really helped me out."

"No problem. I'll see you around."

"Right." Virginia goes through the door. Helping Tim is a definite priority, but a psychologist? She shakes her head. She'll have to try something else.

(...the Turner's house...hours later...)

Ashley grabs onto the railing as she walks down the stairs. The sick look on her face gives off the distinctive air of mischief.

Virginia walks through the door.

"Mrs. Turner?" There is a quaver in Ashley's voice.

"Yes?"

The blonde girl hugs the woman. "Oh, the things that happened. Like some kind of...horrible nightmare vision."

"Uh...huh. How are the kids?"

"The kids? The kids are fine, I'm pretty sure."

At that moment, the door to the kids' bedroom opens slightly. Thomas and Violet peek their heads out.

"The...monster may have gotten them, too."

The twins can't help but giggle to themselves.

Virginia peels Ashley's arms from her midsection. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I don't know. I'd just like to go home." Ashley goes pale as she walks out the door.

"But I haven't paid you."

"I'll send a bill", she replies, the emotion gone from her voice.

Virginia shakes her head. She puts her hand to her mouth. "Kids!"

Thomas and Violet run down the stairs and hug their mother. She looks down at them.

"Just what was Ashley talking about?"

Violet puts on her best sweet face. "We don't know, Mommy." Actually, they did know. Conjuring a fire-breathing monster to frighten the nasty out of one's babysitter isn't easy, but it made for a fun time in the eyes of the children.

Thomas shrugs. "It's probably sugar. That stuff makes you hyper."

"Just like you always tell us."

"Well, yes, but..."

Tim walks through the door, disrupting her train of thought. The look on his face is far from a happy one.

Virginia steps away from the kids and goes to embrace her husband. "Hey, stranger--"

He brushes her aside. She cautiously approaches him. "How was your day?"

He responds with a glare. He almost seems to growl his words. "Every single day, it's the same thing: 'How was your day, Tim?' 'How are you feeling, Tim?' Well, maybe, I don't want to talk about my day! That thought ever cross your mind?"

Virginia gasps. The kids perform the same action. When the occasion called for it, Tim was sarcastic to inattentive people, the ignorant and the intolerant, but never his family.

"Tim, I--" He puts his finger up.

"Don't, okay. Just don't."

Violet runs to him. "Daddy, what's wrong?"

Tim crouches down and gets right in his kids' faces. "And why are you two so cheery all of the time? If you knew what you had to deal with in life, you wouldn't be so damn happy."

Virginia has had enough. It's one thing to turn on her, but, as far as she was concerned, their kids are off limits. She stands before Tim, creating a barrier between him and the kids. He meets her face to face.

He wears a defiant smirk on his face. Virginia looks at him angrily, fighting the urge to cry. To her surprise, he walks away from her and heads up the stairs. "I'll be back down in a half hour. Better get crackin' on dinner."

The dark-haired woman's eyes narrow as he makes the ascent. Upon hearing a door close, she bends down and hugs her shaken children.

"Oh. Are you two okay?"

Thomas dries his eyes."Yeah, we're fine."

Violet does the same. "What's wrong with Daddy?"

"I don't know, but I'll do something about it. Don't you worry." Virginia's eyes shift to her briefcase. She turns back to the twins. "Now, go to your room. Dinner will be ready soon."

"All right, Mommy", the children reply in unison. They walk up the stairs.

Virginia digs through her briefcase and pulls out a business card. She hoped that this person would be one of the best. They'd have to be to deal with Tim.


	6. Psych Out

Chapter 6 - Psych-Out

__

"Hello. Yes, I'll hold. Hello. My name is Virginia Turner. I would like to make an appointment for my husband. His name is Tim. 5:15 tomorrow? Thank you. That will be fine."

(...the office...the next day...)

Tim sits at his desk, a sour look on his face. He stares at the papers before him. A grunt escapes his lips.

Mr. Hamilton walks by and spots his supposed difficulty. "Hey, Tim, still struggling with the APS reports? I thought you got that settled."

Tim tries to get a handle on his brewing emotions. "I...thought I did too."

"Well, you can always finish them at home like the other night."

The younger man develops a slight twitch in his eye.

(...a couple of hours later...)

The reports are in the same condition as earlier: unfinished. Thankfully, no one had much commented on this. The other employees knew Tim to be a good man, but they kept mainly to themselves.

The man looks at the clock on the wall. 2:56. The hands seem to be stuck there. He glances at his co-workers, who seem to be getting things done faster than him. How can they be happy doing this day in, day out? The sound of silence causes Tim's twitch to re-emerge. He again looks at the clock. The minute hands moves from the ':56' marker...to the ':55' marker.

He reaches his arms out and sweeps the papers off his desk. The spillage gets the attention of his fellow workers.

Without a word, Tim gets up from his desk. People can't help but stare at him; he seemed like such a nice guy. He walks to the elevator and pushes the 'down' button. He scowls; it's like he can feel everyone staring at him...but then, how could they not?

He snaps around. "What!" This quickly sends everyone back to their work. The bell dings and the door opens. He walks in and the door closes.

(...the streets of Dimmsdale...fifteen minutes later...)

Tim drives his car down the road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other at his head. Why did life have to suck so much? He turns a corner. His mind drifts back to this morning...

(...the Turner's kitchen...)

Tim is rushing to get his belongings together. Virginia tries to keep up with him.

"Tim, I know you've been feeling...pretty bad these past few days. Somehow, I don't think it's the headaches."

He grunts in response.

"I've signed you up for...for..." The brunette was understandably nervous about telling her husband that she wants him to see a psychologist. Her mind ran through a number of possible suggestions, until... "...a masseuse."

"A masseuse?" For the first time in days, there was elation in the man's voice.

"Yes. She's one of the best in the area. Guaranteed to help you out." Virginia turns her head and bites her lip. She didn't want to lie, but she was backed into this corner, with no other way. It was the truth...except for the 'masseuse' part, at least.

(...the streets of Dimmsdale...)

__

"So, where is the parlor?"

"Downtown, Doyle Street. Next to the internet cafe."

Tim pulls up to the modest brownstone. There are no parking spaces in front. He mutters a curse as he drives up the street.

(...the brownstone...)

The young man steps into the waiting room. Wall-to-wall carpeting. Magazines up to six months old on a table in the center. A young woman sitting at a desk talking on the phone. This was unlike any massage parlor he'd ever been in...not that he was any kind of connoisseur.

He walks up to the desk. "Hello. Tim Turner. I have an appointment."

The blonde flips through a datebook. "Let's see, Turner, Turner...wow. You're two hours early."

"Yeah. Work let out early. Someone pulled a fire alarm. I'd like to get right to this."

"Certainly. It's the third door on your right." The secretary points the way.

Tim walks down the hallway. He arrives at the room and goes in, wholly unaware of the lettering embossed on the door: 'Jasmine Fenton, Ph.D'.

(...an office...)

The young man closes the door behind him. He glances around the room. Framed degrees. A shelf full of psychology books. A couch. Pretty fancy for a masseuse parlor. The red-haired woman sitting at her desk looks a little overdressed for what he expects, though she sure is pretty enough, right up to her glasses. They were mainly for show, but she does need them from time to time. She can't be more than a few years older than him.

He shrugs his shoulders. "Tim Turner."

"You're two hours early." She doesn't look up from the book she's currently buried in.

"I already went through this with Mary Sunshine out there. I'd really like to, uh...get started." He starts to undo the buttons on his shirt.

The woman looks up. "All right. I--what are you doing?"

"Well, it wouldn't do to get a masseuse with my clothes on, would it?"

She chuckles slightly. This wasn't the first time that a patient was tricked into seeing her...and she knew it wouldn't be the last.

"I hate to break this to you, but this isn't a masseuse parlor." She closes her book and sets it down. "This is a psychiatrist's office."

Tim throws his arms up. "Well, that's just great. So where's the psychiatrist?"

She stretches her hands out, as if to say 'Ta-da!' "You're looking at her."

"I don't need to be here."

"Look. If someone took the time to make an appointment, I'd have to say otherwise."

Tim thinks a bit. He scowls upon arriving at the answer.

"I'm gone."

The woman stands up. "Well, if you don't want to be here, fine. No one's stopping you." Sure enough, Tim's stomp toward the exit goes unimpeded. "Of course, if you're scared, that's fine, too. It'll be our little secret." Tim stops before touching the doorknob. He turns around.

Jasmine smiles. Another popular skill was reverse psychology. Some of her professors instructed her on these tricks between lessons; a little something they used to break the ice with their students.

As he walks back to the couch, she sits in the chair next to it. He lies down on the couch. "So, what is it you do here?"

"People tell me about their problems, then their problems go away."

"Meaning that if I talk about you, _you_ might go away, right?"

She crosses her legs. "Very nice. So what's troubling you?"

"A better question would be 'what _isn't_ troubling me?'. My wife keeps asking me how I feel. I feel fine!"

"Well, maybe she's just concerned for your well-being."

"'Concerned?' What is this, a woman thing? There's nothing wrong with me!" The woman lies back a little in her chair. "I'm just fine. People are always worrying about...!"

(...the streets of Dimmsdale...)

A navy blue car makes its way through traffic. At the wheel is Virginia. She pulls into a parking space next to the park.

She looks at a spiral notebook with a pen on it lying in the passenger's seat. She picks up both items and begins writing.

__

Where was it written that a woman had_ to find a man? She couldn't be content with a life of solitude? She knew her friends meant well, but it was her life. Her decisions. Deep down, she felt that if she was never allowed to make her own decisions, she would never truly find happiness._

The brunette puts the pen down and reads over what she's written. "Not bad", she states with a nod. "This'll make a nice addition."

(...Dr. Fenton's office...)

Jasmine had heard that Dimmsdale was a nice, quiet place to live. The fact that it was a mere bridge away helped. A part of her wanted to stay in Amity Park. Her family, her home, her whole life was there. She wanted so much to look after her brother. With what went on in his life, he needed all the help he could get. A couple of years back, he found a woman to stand by him and watch over him. The funny thing was that this woman was in front of him all along and it took him a long time - perhaps too long, the red-head mused - to realize it.

"...and then you get a 'how are you feeling?'. As if the answer isn't obvious!"

Jasmine shakes her head. "Yes. Very interesting." She couldn't be blamed too much for zoning out; when someone started raving like this, it happened involuntarily. Poor manners? Perhaps, but after a decade at this, she found it to be a sound alternative to 'Shut the hell up, you whining baby!'

Tim turns his head around. "Are you even listening to me?" Jasmine is snapped from her reminiscing.

She straightens up and pushes her glasses closer to her face. "Oh, yes, of course I am."

He narrows his eyes. "Then what have I been saying?"

"You feel constricted by your wife's insistence on doting on you, and it's driving a wedge between the two of you."

"Yes," the man replies, surprisedly. Damn her, she's good.

"Tell me, has this been a problem for you in the past?"

"'The past'? Huh. It feels like I was never around, like I was forgotten, while she's living the good life with the..." He uses air quotes for emphasis and adds a mocking tone to his speech. "...'man of her dreams'."

"...man of her dreams? There's another man?"

"Damn right, there was, and I know the guy. A real loser in school. No friends, no popularity, no nothing." He folds his arms. "As far as I'm concerned, she can have him."

"Don't you even want to try to work this out?"

"There's nothing _to_ work out."

"Now, Mr. Turner." The young man winces a little. "Your wife obviously cares a great deal about you. Having met you, I can't fully understand why, but she does. She wants to get you help, but you have to be willing to accept it."

"Look here, Miss..."

"_Dr._ Fenton. Jasmine Fenton, Ph. D. It's right there on the door."

He shrugs. "Miss...Jasmine. What kind of name is that for a doctor?"

With her name and considerable beauty, Jasmine had to work to prove herself in her field, and wouldn't let anyone undermine her. She exhales, trying to keep calm. "What about you, Tim Turner? What, did you step out of a comic book?"

The brown-haired man gets up. "As much as I..._enjoyed_ our time together, I have to go." He walks toward the door.

"You will be getting a bill for this!"

He's halfway out. "Don't expect me to pay it!" With a slam, the man is gone. Jasmine shakes her head. She's dealt with her share of difficult patients, but he was definitely top five material.


	7. Three the Hard Way

Chapter 7 - Three the Hard Way

(...Thomas and Violet's bedroom...an hour later...)

The kids sit on their beds. Sullen looks are present on their faces. From the clear cage, the two 'hamsters' glance at the youngsters. They poof out of the cage and before their godchildren.

Wanda speaks up. "Oh, why so down, sweeties?"

Violet leaps from her bed. "It's Daddy. The last few days, he's been acting...not like himself."

"Yeah, and he's been..." Thomas gets a little stuck. "...what's does it mean when you say one thing, but you say it a certain way so that it means the opposite? People on TV are like this a lot."

Cosmo pipes in. "Sarcastic?"

"Yeah, sarcastic."

(...the Turner's house...)

__

"It's like he's trying to hide something from us."

Tim opens the door quietly and closes it in the same manner. He tiptoes into the living room. His eyes fix on some papers on the table. He flips through the documents; words and various ideas are scribbled on. He stops on a particular piece of paper. It's different from the others, as the words are typed and neat. He reads the paragraph:

__

"The young woman stood at the edge of the cliff. With what had been going on in her life, her friends feared for her safety, but, really, she just always enjoyed the view. A stiff breeze caused her long white dress to billow and her long red hair to flow about her. A sigh escapes her ruby red lips as she gazes into the ravine. As calm as she felt, she was also depressed. After all, she was 30 years old and she hadn't yet found her one true love."

The young man tosses the papers down and scoffs.

__

"It's like he doesn't love us anymore."

He turns around and bumps into Ashley. It wasn't easy convincing her to come back, but Virginia, in so many words, promised to make the kids keep the horrible monsters away. It seemed a little patronizing, yes, but babysitters are so hard to come by. Kids Ashley's age usually have lives.

"Mr. Turn--" He clasps his hand over her mouth with his right hand.

"You didn't see me, I was never here..." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a twenty dollar bill. "This conversation never happened." She spots and accepts the currency.

"What conversation?" A shrug of the shoulders seals the deception.

Tim pats her shoulder. "You're doing good work." Elated, Ashley starts up the stairs. Before heading to the door, the man sees a newspaper on the couch.

__

"Kids, I just know your father loves you and your mother very much."

The story on the front page reads, 'Trixie comes home'. It must've been a slow news day. He skims the article. After a few moments, he tosses the paper away and rushes out the door, making sure to close it gently.

Meanwhile, the red light on the answering machine starts to flash.

(...the Dimmsdale Hilton...a few hours later...)

Whenever staying in Dimmsdale, this hotel provides a scenic view of the city, excellent service...and ample discretion. Several people file into the lobby. One of them is him, still in his business casual attire. The look on his face suggests that he knows just what he wants, though if the walk is a bit halting, even unsure.

This may have been due to the fact that he had a big meal before coming here. The heart-attack special at McKinney's was calling his name. The cry would soon turn into indigestion, but for now, seize the day.

He glanced over at a crowd of people. They looked to be mobbing someone. He wasn't stupid; he was aware of who they were fawning over. He tries to shove his way through the throng, but they are just too thick. His hands try to push a pair of fans aside, but three more seem to block his path.

Meanwhile, at the center of the calculated madness was _her_. Long of hair, bountiful of chest, exuberant of demeanor - there's no mistaking her for anyone else. Among the chatter from the on-lookers: "She's even more beautiful in person.", "What will you be doing next?", "Will you marry me?" and, most inexplicably, "Her eyes are a lot rounder than I expected." He gets closer and closer...but he's squeezed out.

He waves his hand in anger and walks away.

(...the hotel bar...)

The place is mostly deserted; nothing but chairs, tables and dust. The young man sits on a stool at one end of the bar. The balding man behind the counter walks up to him.

"What'll you have?"

"Scotch on the rocks."

"Comin' up." He puts down the glass he was drying and turns to the various beverages behind him. Within moments, the drink is served. The man downs it in one gulp and clears his throat.

"I'll have what he had." He turns his head to the opposite end of the bar. There is a young woman sitting on a stool. Her dark hair is hidden under a hat. She turns to the younger man and smiles. She pats the stool next to her. He grins stupidly as he approaches the seat.

"Never thought I'd see you here", the man lied. The articles in the newspaper documented the visitation quite well.

The bartender places the drink in front of the woman. "The feeling is mutual, um...Tommy." After all these years...it didn't matter much, though. Names are unimportant.

"Good seeing you again, Trixie. So...what brings you here?"

The woman circles the rim of the glass with her fingertip. "Just thought I'd stop by, see how things were going." ...which is only partially true. Having been born into money, Trixie had no compulsion to enter the work force. To her relief, her parents didn't force the issue; her happiness was priority one. Sadly, they didn't really know (or care for) the difference between what a child wants and what a child needs. All she cared about was having fun; where she had it was immaterial, with whom even less.

She takes the glass in her dainty hand and drains it almost as quickly as he did. "Leave the girl drinks to the little girls, I say."

His eyes widen in shock. "Whoa."

"Say, didn't you used to have a thing for me in school?"

"To put it mildly."

The brunette smiles sweetly. The sugar in her voice could knock off a diabetic. "I'd hate to go have to go back to my room alone. Would you mind escorting me up?"

Was this really happening to him? Did Trixie Tang honestly ask him to go with her to a room in a hotel known for its ample discretion? Given their history together, he thought long and hard about this. The decision was clear.

"Yes, I do!" She takes his hand and drags him to a hallway. They sneak onto an elevator. The three people departing the car don't seem to notice them.

(...room 925...)

The room looks very much like a deluxe suite. The partition separating this room from 927 rests against a far wall. A number of bulky trunks are in the room. Some of them are open, their contents - several fancy, colorful outfits - draped on various pieces of furniture.

The door opens and in step the two old 'friends'. She outstretches her arm. "This is my room."

"Yes, it is." The young man gawks at the surroundings. He walks about the downscaled-though-still-opulent luxury suite. He takes a seat on the edge of a bed... "Whoa!" ...and quickly falls in.

Trixie giggles. "Like the waterbed?"

He tries to roll off of it. "I think it likes me more."

As he stands to his feet, she walks over to the mini bar. "Champagne?"

"Oh, yeah." She opens the chest and tosses him a tiny bottle of Chablis. He catches it like a seasoned outfielder.

"You never told me." By now, the rich girl has her own mini-champagne.

"Told me what?"

She opens the bottle and takes a swig. "What are _you_ doing here? Somehow, I knew you weren't being straight with me."

"I was in the neighborhood...so I felt like showing up."

"Did you ever meet anyone?"

He thinks for a moment. "Hmmm. Can't say that I have."

Their eyes meet. "You never met anyone?" The two of them draw closer.

"No one of great importance."

...and closer...

"Seems like a shame. You're much cuter now."

...and closer. He wraps his arms around her waist. Their eyes lock. Her pouty lips meet his thin, slightly-chapped ones.

The moment continues even upon the intrusion of an airy, somewhat high voice. "I'm home!"

The two of them turn toward the door. It's a woman with long dark hair...and vibrant blue eyes.

"May I present to you...Trixie Tang!"

'Trixie' strikes a pose and pulls off her wig, revealing her flowing blonde locks. "Veronica?"

"In the flesh." Sure enough, it was Trixie's long-time friend. One day, she found out about Veronica's little...habit. They remained good pals, and when Trixie became famous, she found a way to exploit the proclivity and maintain a good public perception at the same time. There did exist a brain beneath her teased locks.

"You doing okay?" The brunette rushes to her friend. Despite the scheming, Trixie seemed to care for the blonde. The young man stood back and glanced at them. Trixie Wendoline Alabaster Tang and her best friend, Veronica Desmond. Trixie and Veronica. TWAT and V.D. Some people have said that they make the perfect pair.

"Can you believe who decided to join us?", the brunette rasps, motioning to the young man.

"No I can't, Trixie." The ladies start to eye the man hungrily, and he liked it. Trixie was his everything in the past and Veronica was...she was a very pretty girl. If only she weren't nuts.

The women turn toward the young man. "So...what do you say to having some fun?"

"I'm always down for fun."

"Great." The women tackle the man and kiss him vigorously. He tries to take off his shirt, almost like he can sense where things are going, but Veronica, in her impatience, rips it off, scattering the buttons on the floor. The man sits up, Trixie and Veronica with him.

"Wet land or dry?"

He shrugs. "Ladies' choice."

"Dry it is." Waterbeds were good for sleep, but not very practical for love-making.

As they stumble over to the king-size bed, Trixie and the man assist each other in taking off their clothes. She gets down to her bra and panties. He reaches up to her waist, but she takes his hands and tosses them away.

As she hums a tune, Trixie reaches behind her and unhooks her under-wire prison. The bra slides off of her. Buttercup and Ilsa were free. The brunette continues to hum as she removes the last of her clothing.

Clad in nothing but the suits of their birth, they crawl onto the bed. Never has she looked more coquettish. Her bags of fun were just as perky as that first day of school. Her hair looked so beautiful splayed across the pillows. This is all too much for the man to take.

He impales her as only a lustful young man can.

She squeals in delight. Her moans could form the backbeat of a song. He looks her in the eyes to see the satisfaction on her face. What he sees causes his eyes to goggle.

"Timmy..." Her voice, while womanly, is like that of a girl.

It was Virginia, and, to compound the strangeness of it, she looks about ten years younger.

"...promise me it won't hurt too much."

He rears back somewhat. This garners Trixie's attention. "What's wrong?"

A shake of his head. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

The man's task continues unabated. Their bodies joined together as one. The rhythm of their...motions. And, of course, the power. The way he knew what she wanted and what he thought she wanted, but wasn't so sure about. _This_ is what she deprived herself of all these years!

A short while goes by, and she is sated...but he continues on. A short jog is being turned into a marathon. Trixie whines a little. Veronica is distracted from raiding the mini-bar. Little does the man know that this is something of a code for them: whenever one of them is getting...too much of a good thing, the other will lend a hand.

The blonde removes her outerwear and crawls onto the young man. Unaware of the true motives, the man starts to feel elated. Veronica's pillows press into his back. They were enhanced ever so slightly to match those of Trixie (bless you, Dr. Goldfarb!). Veronica nibbles on his ear as he continues to work. The feeling of being the meat in a starlet sandwich is, ultimately, too much.

The three of them exhale as he lets go. Trixie and Veronica shoot each other a look, as if to say, 'good job'. The young man rolls over a bit, his breathing ragged. His high is such that he can barely hear the conversation.

"...should try again..." He was pretty sure that Veronica was talking.

"...get his stamina back..." The man didn't really have a clue here, but Trixie was looking right at him, so maybe it was her.

The best friends stare at him, smiling. They each grab a leg...and start kissing. Another of their games? Trixie seems to be ahead of Veronica, working toward his crotch. She of the raven hair bypasses the pleasure center, focusing on his taut stomach. Despite the occasional craving for junk food, he took care of his body. To his chagrin, he couldn't move his body; the fun was drained out of him. The friends work their way to his face. They plant a kiss on his cheek. His lips. His forehead. Each other. This continues for a good hour. If he was enjoying himself before, then he was having a blast now...as Trixie and Veronica figure out with a glance downward.

"Looks like he's ready", they giggle and state in girlish unison.

(...the streets of Dimmsdale...a couple of hours later...)

A car makes it way down the road. The driver wears a smile on his face, like he was a part of something amazing. That he certainly was. He accomplished what so few of his stature had: he met two of the school's most popular girls...and banged them like a screen door in a hurricane.

As he rounds a corner, a thought occurred to him: life can't possibly get any better.


	8. A Stranger Among Us

Chapter 8 - A Stranger Among Us

(...outside the Turner house...ten minutes later...)

A car pulls into the driveway. He was unsure why he came back. There's nothing for him here. Yet, there was some strange...pull that compelled him to return here.

(...the living room...)

The door opens. Tim quietly walks in. He closes the door behind him and walks toward the stairs.

A lamp switches on. The light illuminating the room goes unnoticed by Tim... "And here I was worried that something may have happened to you." ...but the voice on the couch does not.

Virginia glares back at him, her arms folded.

He turns around...and laughs a little. "You got me! I was...working late and the time, it just got away from--"

"The office called. You stormed out of the building. Don't embarrass the both of us by lying."

"Okay, so I wasn't 'working', but I..."

The brunette walks to her husband. "Damnit, Tim. What's happening to you?"

"Nothing is happening to me. Everything is--"

"No! Don't you dare say 'fine'. That's all I've heard from you the last few days. Why won't you...?" Virginia can't complete her thought. For much of the conversation, Tim avoided eye contact with her. She gets a good look into his eyes...and discovers the reason.

"Why won't I _what_?"

"I...I'm sorry, Tim. I guess I'm just a bit hysterical. I mean, I was worried an-and you didn't call, and..."

"Don't worry, babe. I'm here now." Virginia wraps her arms around him. He lightly pats her back. "Well, I'm tired. I'm goin' to bed."

"I'll be up in a bit."

Tim offers a wave of the hand and an unintelligible murmur in response. What Virginia saw in his eyes frightened her a little. There's no telling what he might've done to her if he caught on to her fear.

Virginia goes to the linen closet and pulls out a multi-colored blanket. Her mother made it for her many years ago. She used to say that it would keep monsters away, but, over time, Virginia realized that it was just her mother playing to her childhood fears. She lies down on the couch and pulls the comforter over her. This much was certain: the woman sure hoped her mother was right about this now. A few tears escape Virginia's eyes as she turns off the lamp.

Meanwhile, a picture hangs on the wall next to the staircase. It somewhat resembles the 'Mona Lisa', but the hair of the woman in the picture was pink instead of brown. In the classic artwork, people debated over whether or not the woman was smiling. The shocked look of the woman in the replica left behind no such mystery.

(...the Turner home...the following afternoon...)

Ah, Saturday. A day of rest. Virginia sits at the computer typing. The phone rings. She reaches over and picks it up.

"Turner home. How may I help you? Vicky, hi! I'm fine. Tim...well, Tim is...different. The last few days, he's...he hasn't been himself. No, I will _not_ divorce him! No, you cannot recommend lawyers. Vicky, this is just...a rough patch. We'll get through this."

There is raucous laughter on the other end as Virginia hangs up the receiver. Even with the onset of adulthood, the relationship between Tim and Vicky was just as rocky as ever. She did attend the wedding, though...mainly as a favor to her sister, who she really cared for. There were just too many elements contributing to their mutual animosity. Vicky got to see Thomas and Violet...but Tim couldn't find out. He didn't want his children exposed to her.

Speaking of Tim...

"Who was that?" He walks past her, brushing her back with his fingers.

"Oh, just Vicky."

"Ah." Virginia watches him as he exits the room. Okay, something is definitely off. News of a phone call from Vicky was usually accompanied by an audible groan (something in the neighborhood of 'they can hear you in the South of France') and some mumbled insults. She tries to shake it off and turns back to her work.

(...the living room...a couple of hours later...)

Virginia slings her purse around her shoulder and opens the door. Violet rushes outside followed by Thomas. They each wear pins on their shirts, one is pink and the other green.

"I call the front seat."

"No fair! You always get the front seat!"

"Tim, I'm going to the store. I'll be back in a while."

There's no answer. Virginia turns to her bickering children as she closes the door.

"Thomas, honey, you can get the front seat when we come back."

"All right."

The engine roars to life and the car makes its way into traffic.

All of this could matter less to the man lying on the couch. He thought about the events of the previous night. The fun he had. The excitement, and the danger...well, it wasn't too dangerous. He stopped at a drugstore beforehand; in today's society, one can never be too careful of diseases. Besides, if more fun was to be had, it simply wouldn't do to worry about the burning and the itching.

He exhales a little bit. Trixie and Veronica. He'd been dreaming about this since high school...in fact, it was very much what he envisioned then.

__

"Oh, what a great night that was.", a cocksure voice states from out of nowhere.

The man sits up.

"I definitely want to have more like it."

Another voice, one trying to sound confident, speaks up. _"But you can't."_

"Who says I can't?"

"Me!"

"You! And just what are you_ gonna do about it?"_

"Uh...something!"

The man runs to a mirror hanging on the wall.

__

"And what can you do? I'm running things here!"

The man's head shifts from side to side with each response. _"It's my life."_

"It's our life; our life that you threw away!"

"I didn't throw away anything. I fell in love. I found someone who loves me."

"Just one woman? Pathetic."

"Not as much as you."

The man raises his fist and punches the mirror. Glass shards spill onto the floor. Instead of a scream, the man simply shakes his hand. His expressions run the gamut between smug and angry.

__

"Face it, Tim, she's holding you back. Holding us _back."_

"You leave me alone!"

"Just like you left me alone? Don't bet on it. Back to the subject, the bitch has to go."

"You'll have to kill me, first."

"Already halfway there."

The man runs up the stairs. His foot catches one of the steps and he falls down. He crawls up the stairs and runs to his bedroom. The cocky voice now booms from within.

__

"And what are you trying to do? Run away from your problems? You can't run away, 'cause, wherever you go, I'll always be there."

The man stands against the wall. He glances around. _"Still here, chief."_ He balls his hands into fists. He raises them and starts hitting his head on the wall. Again. And again. And again. In mid-bang, he stops and flings his body across the room. He collapses in a heap.

__

"Whoa, there. Don't want you too banged up. After all, we have a new life to get to." The man looks up, a somewhat malicious look on his face. _"And that means cutting ties to the old one."_

(...the Turner home...an hour later...)

The sound of the car pulling into the driveway can be heard...but, not much else. Thomas and Violet get out of the car. "Hey, you two. You need to help with these."

"But mommy...", they whine together.

The door unlocks. Virginia kicks it open. She carries two big bags, impairing her vision. "Tim, are you there?"

She knew the house pretty well (after living in it for a decade, she had better), so navigating to the kitchen was no problem. The woman sets the bags down on the counter and takes several breaths.

Virginia turns around. Right there behind her is Tim, who looks happy to see her.

"Hey." His tone is low and calm, bordering on robotic.

The brunette grabs her chest. "Damn, Tim. You scared me."

"Didn't mean to. No matter what happens, I want you to be calm."

She looks up at him. "Right..." Without taking her eyes off of him, Virginia walks out of the kitchen. She peeks her head back in. "Um, could you put those groceries away, please?"

"Right." He roots through one of the bags. His face crinkles; there's nothing of interest here. His hands reach into the other. Same unfortunate results.

He walks out, the groceries still on the counter.

(...the living room...an hour later...)

Lightning cuts a swath across the night sky. Virginia lies on the couch, reading a book by table lamp.

From out of the darkness glides Tim, a wide grin on his face.

"Hello." That same near-emotionless tone asserts itself.

Virginia lets out a yelp. "Tim, I really wish you wouldn't do that."

He doesn't seem to be listening. "Nice night, isn't it?"

The brunette looks out the window. By now, it's started to rain. "Yeah, right."

"You know, I was thinking...things have been really crazy, lately. How would you feel about a vacation?"

"A vacation? That sounds great. I could sure use one." She stretches a little. "A chance to get away from school, a chance to kick back and relax."

The brown-haired man reaches his hand back. "I was so hoping you'd say that." In a quick swing, he knocks Virginia off of the couch. He walks around and slings the woman over his shoulder.

He walks back around the couch. Virginia hangs behind as he heads up the stairs. Her head shakes a bit as she flutters back to consciousness. She looks down at the steps, then up at who seems to be her husband.

Virginia grabs on to the railing and wraps her legs around Tim's head. With all her might, she knocks him down the stairs.

(...the bedroom...)

Virginia rushes to the phone. She picks up the receiver and starts to dial. Nine...one...

The young man grabs her from behind before she can finish. Her legs thrash around to no effect. The receiver still in hand, she reaches behind and hits him in the head. Another hit. And another. He drops her and puts his hands to his head. This enables her to run out.

(...Thomas and Violet's bedroom...)

The two of them are fast asleep. The door opens. Virginia closes it behind her. This gets Violet's attention. She sits up in her bed.

"Mommy, what's wrong?" A worried look on her face.

"Um...nothing."

__

"Where are you?"

"...much."

Thomas' eyes open.

"It's not time for school, is it?", the boy replies sleepily.

The woman moves closer to her children. Her voice becomes steadily choked up. "Now...we're gonna play a little game. It's called 'safe getaway'. The object is to get dressed as quickly and quietly as possible." Virginia knew how wrong it was to lie so much to her children, but whatever kept them safe and clear-headed was deemed necessary.

"Mommy, what prize does the fastest person win?"

"I'll tell you in my car. Now, please hurry."

Thomas sounds a little more awake. "Can we bring our hamsters?"

"Have they been fed?"

"Uh-huh."

"Yes, you can." The brunette prepares to go outside. She goes back to the twins' bed. "Come here." She beckons her children to come to her. "I love you so much." A big, circulation-slowing hug.

She wipes the tears from her eyes as she walks out.

(...the hallway...)

Virginia leans on the railing overlooking the living room. She looks toward the front door. The woman takes off down the stairs. As she reaches the foot, the man turns the corner and blocks her path.

She stops and rushes back up. He grabs her right leg. She trips and donkey-kicks him with her left. She scurries up the stairs. He reaches out to get her...but stops. Virginia rolls over and watches as he grabs his head and yells. This must be one mother of a headache.

He crouches away and continues to yell. She reaches her hand out, like she wants to help him. He turns back around, causing her to snatch the hand back.

The look in his eyes is surprisingly heartfelt. "Tootie...run!" A look of worry briefly crossed Virginia's face; Tim never, ever called her 'Tootie' unless something was really wrong.

"Timmy...?" Her again choked-up voice hits that unusual pitch she reached as a love struck little girl.

"Run...away."

She obeys him and knocks on the kids' bedroom door. "Are you ready yet?"

"I am, but Thomas isn't."

"I'm almost done!"

Virginia looks down at her writhing husband. "Kids, this really isn't the time."

After a few moments, the door opens and the kids walk out. Thomas holds the hamster cage. "Ready!"

"Good. Now follow me downstairs." The children do just that.

Thomas notices his father on the floor. "What's wrong with daddy?"

"I'm not sure."

"Shouldn't we try to help him?", the girl adds.

The man reaches out again. "Run!"

"We will. I don't know when, or how, but we will."

Virginia grabs a coat out of the closet and hurries the children out. The last thing they see before closing the door is their anguished provider, reaching his hand toward them, groaning and grunting.


	9. A Lot on My Mind

Chapter 9 - A Lot on My Mind

(...the living room...minutes later...)

Tim's body continues to writhe and squirm on the floor. After one last contortion, it goes limp.

(...an empty space...)

It's very quiet...very hollow and dark. Tim feels around. His hands lay onto a wall. He leans against it and picks himself up. Still touching the wall, he moves ahead. He can't help but wonder how long this will last. He bumps into a door. His search for a knob is successful. He turns it, to no avail; it's locked. He bangs on the door repeatedly. To his surprise, the door falls forward.

Tim walks into a wide open area. It resembles a giant library. There are bookshelves all around, as far as he can see. Strangely, though, there don't seem to be many books; the space is taken by manila folders and spiral notebooks. He glances about, confused by what's going on.

"Where am I?"

A smooth voice rings out. "It's not too surprising you don't recognize this place. After all, you hardly ever use it."

Tim's eyes dart around the 'library' in search of the person. He fixes on a ladder at one of the shelves. At the top of the ladder is a man. He looks about Tim's age, but his hair is dark and done up sort of like a rock star. His hands flip through the loose pictures of a folder.

The mystery man glances down at Tim. He closes the folder and puts it back on the shelf. He takes off the reading glasses he'd been wearing and tosses them away. The man reaches into his red jacket and pulls out a pair of sunglasses. He puts them on and slides down the ladder. Tim stares a little.

The man sidesteps a huge desk. On it are a large book and a paper shredder - just the thing to block out bad memories. "Don't tell me you don't recognize me. I'd be offended if you didn't."

Tim squints a little. Nothing comes to mind.

The man's genteel facade quickly melts away. "Gary! Remember? Your imaginary friend? I came to life, you didn't like me winning everybody over?"

Tim's mouth hangs open. He wasn't sure how to react to something like this.

"But, hey, no big deal, right?" His calm voice returns. "Things are working out nicely."

(...an apartment...)

It's a pretty messy place. Fairly unbecoming for anyone, but just right for the residents. There's a knock at the door. The response is a loud mumble. A more forceful knock. An equally annoyed grumble. One more knock, but a drawn-out one.

A figure stumbles through the mess and the darkness. "This had better be good." The owner of the voice sounds like she was fast asleep and wants nothing to do with anyone. The door opens. "Yeah, what happened?"

It's a sopping wet Virginia, with Thomas and Violet standing on either side of her. "Hello."

"Well, if it isn't my happily married sister and her wonderful children." Her tone is somewhat facetious. It's nice to know that, after all these years, Vicky hasn't changed a bit. "What the he..." She remembers that her niece and nephew are within earshot. "...what brings you here?"

"Well...Tim went a little crazy, and I had to leave him."

At those last two words, the red-head perks up. "Sister dear! Bring your single self on in. You must be soaked to the bone."

Vicky welcomes the travelers inside. "I'm not single. I'm still married."

"Sorry about the mess. I gave the maid a week off." The woman guides her sister and kids through the clutter. However, even if she had a maid, the place would, more often than not, look the way it does now.

"I'm still with Tim, Vicky." This stops the older woman in her tracks, the protests finally registering. "I just...had to get away from him."

Vicky strips off Virginia's coat and sits her down on a chair. "Why? Did he hit you?"

"No!"

Vicky sighs. "You're probably not in the mood for 'I told you so', huh?"

"When am I ever?"

"How did you even know I'd be here?"

"I didn't. I was hoping that someone would be here. I didn't know where else to go."

"Well, Charlotte would've let you in, I'm sure. Now, back to the tw--"

Virginia clears her throat. Old habits die hard.

"...you know who."

The brunette turns to her children. "Are you two okay?"

"We're fine. Just a little tired." Violet rubs her eyes a little.

"Well, you can go to Charlotte's room. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

Thomas and Violet oblige their aunt and disappear down the hallway. She turns back to her sister. "So, what's going on?"

"I don't know. He was on the squirming on the floor. I'm not sure if it was a headache or a seizure. He acted like he wanted to hurt me, then he tells me to run." The brunette hunches over. "I shouldn't have left him."

Vicky falls on the couch. "A seizure? I'm no doctor, but that sounds just horrible. I wouldn't wish that on anyone." Virginia looks at her sister skeptically. She tried to locate any sense of irony or ridicule in the statement, but couldn't find them. "You heard me. I don't like him much, but I wouldn't want him dead." She never expected to hear that exact sequence from Vicky's lips...not even at his funeral, presuming she outlives him.

"And why didn't you like him?" Virginia figured that now was as good a time as any.

"Because...I don't like anybody, all right! Just leave it at that."

"Not even me? Your own flesh and blood?" Vicky looks away. "You could've left me out there. Why didn't you?"

The red-head turns back, fresh tears in her eyes. "I don't hate you. You wanna know something? I was jealous. In your whole life, only one person was ever scared of you and you married him. It feels like the whole world is scared of me. I...I just want to be loved, and when I'm not, I take it out on people, like Timmy."

"Mom and Dad love you."

"They're family. It's the rules."

"I love you. My kids love you, and I'm sure your roommate cares for you."

Vicky grabs her sister and hugs her tight. "I love you, too." She sobs onto Virginia's already moist shirt.

(...inside Tim's mind...)

Tim is led by Gary around the library. "...and here's where the childhood memories are stored. I tell you, I'd have never remembered this stuff if it wasn't right here. There's even a folder for me, if you can believe it..."

"Wait, wait. Are you saying that this is my mind?"

Gary outstretches his arms. "Welcome to the same page. I think you'll like it here."

"But why am I here?"

"It's been a long time since we last saw each other. So, you've been having a pretty good life?"

"Yeah, I was, then my wife left. Took the kids."

"Whoa. That's rough."

"It's the strangest thing, though." Tim glances off. "These last few days, it's like I was a different person; like I wasn't in control of what I said and did."

Gary walks away. "I can sympathize, pal. Take me, for example." He walks to the desk and grabs the book. "On and off for twenty years, I was at the mercy of an uncoordinated dork." He tiptoes back to the young man and swings the tome.

Tim falls to the floor. The figment stands over him. He looks at the cover. "'Ethics'. That is good."

"What...do you want?"

"That is a good question. I got trapped here when you stopped me. Not sure exactly how, but it happened. Naturally, the first thing on my mind was revenge, but how? Then, a couple years later, it hit me. Remember when you were thirteen and you were expecting a ten-speed for you birthday, but you ended up with underwear?"

"How could I forget?"

"That got you really pissed, but Heaven forbid you blow up at Mommy and Daddy, so you just smiled and walked away. Anger. Anger was the key. I thought I was defeated, then you deliver to me the very thing that keeps me going. Then you got to high school; girls, tests, popularity." Gary counts each point on his finger. "It was like Christmas every day."

(...Charlotte's bedroom...)

The room, while messy, is somewhat cleaner than the living room. Thomas and Violet sit on the bed. The two "hamsters" poof out of the cage.

Thomas exhales. "I can't understand what's going on."

Wanda floats in front of the children. "Kids, I think I may have it figured out. You said your father was acting sarcastic, right?"

"Yeah."

"Last night, I saw your mother look him in the eyes.

"And the eyes are a window to the soul", Violet offers. "Mommy says that from time to time."

"She saw something that really frightened her. I think that your father may not be himself."

"Well, we've already established that, Wanda." Cosmo pipes in. "If he's not himself, then who is he?"

(...Tim's mind...)

By now, Gary stands over Tim, surrounding him with his legs. "Your anger gave me the strength, the will to get out of here."

"Hold on." Tim makes the time-out sign. "Where could you possibly go?"

Gary points off. "Out there. Gonna make a name for myself. It'll still be your name, but I'll find a way past that."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'll put this in very simple terms: I want your body."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm already using it."

"That brings me to _my_ anger issues." He gestures toward a bookshelf. "I've read all these wonderful fantasies, yet they've never been experienced."

"After high school, they were unimportant."

"Unimportant! That's ridiculous! You need to experience life, get out there, score with chicks. Be a man! You know, grab a beer and drop your pants, send the wife and kids to France. Come to think of it, they might be halfway there by now."

"You are crazy."

Gary crouches down. "Nah. Just lonely, which can lead to craziness. There are so many things I want--no, _must _do. Those fantasies...I've got a craving for them now. They need to happen. I want them to happen." And why not? In high school, Tim's hormones gave rise to a number of...interesting scenarios. One involved the cheerleading squad wrestling in a giant hot-fudge sundae; another involved a riding crop, ropes, lots of leather and the phrase "Yes, mistress Vicky." And then there was the one where Trixie and his current wife resolve their differences in a very friendly (and physical) way. He was once able to write his initials on the ceiling without having to reach up. A recent fantasy - one with a redheaded psychologist working a pole - quickly became a popular one.

"Well, they can't."

The figment gets right in his creator's face. "They will. I didn't survive this long to just give up."

"And just how do you intend to get this stuff done?"

Gary paces a little. "Well...there's obviously not enough room in here for the both of us, so one of us has to go." The figment turns back, his eyes narrowed to slits. "Guess who it is."

(...Charlotte's bedroom...)

"Okay. Here's what we know: your father has taken to insulting people..."

"...and he suffered from headaches."

"And something in his eyes scared Mommy."

"That all adds up to..." The green-haired fairy racks his brain trying to figure it out. "I don't know, but we could certainly rule out revenge."

Thomas jumps off the bed. "Cosmo, who would do these things for revenge?"

The kids think about that point. Wanda gasps a little. "Maybe someone who was trying to get out."

"But who could try to get out of Dad?", Violet wondered. "And how would they even get there?"

The pink-haired fairy slowly looks to her husband. Thomas silently notes this. "Would you excuse us?" Whatever they needed to talk about, the boy thought, it must've been important: Wanda dragged Cosmo away by his ear.

The fairies disappear behind a wall. Through it, Thomas can hear a heated conversation.

Violet approaches her brother. "What's going on?"

Thomas shushes her. _"You told me you locked the door!"_

"Well, I was sure I did. It was such a long time ago."

"Now, his life is in danger!"

The arguing seems to cease. Thomas moves away from the wall and sits on the bed. The fairies return.

"Anything new to report, kids?"

"No. How about you?"

"Nothing, really."

"Hmmm."

(...the living room...)

Virginia holds her sobbing older sister and rubs her back. Vicky had been crying on and off for some time. It had occured to the younger woman that she never, not once, had seen or heard her sister crying.

"Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for being here." They break apart. "Now, I should find a way to help Tim."

The redhead takes a breath. "You probably should go to him."

(...Tim's mind...)

"Think of what you could have had. Think of what you could have...of what you had last night."

"Oh..." Tim sounds quite nauseated.

"Just one fantasy that came true."

"Oh, my God." His tone is more worried.

"Hey, man, pull the panties out of your crack. I used protection."

Tim starts gagging, almost like he's ready to vomit.

"I can't believe this. You lost your nerve."

The creator swallows a huge gulp. "I grew up."

"You got weak."

"I got wise!" Tim exhales. "So, all that stuff about me loving Trixie, that was all you?"

"It started out as you, but I helped it along."

"I was a stupid little kid with stupid little ideals of beauty and perfection. We could never have worked out."

"If you were willing to try! And who did you end up going for? 'Oh, Tiiiiiiiimmmmmmy!'" He mocks Virginia's childhood voice fairly well. "God, that voice is like nails on a chalkboard!"

"You don't know her like I do."

"What's there to know? You married your stalker!" Tim can take no more. He stands up and throws his fist at Gary. He grabs it and responds in kind. Faster than the brown-haired man can react, it connects. Without letting go of Tim's hand, the figment sweeps his creator's legs, sending him to the floor. Tim tries to sit up, but doesn't make it two inches when Gary's foot falls to his neck.

"All you had to do was just let me take over. No problems, no sweat. But look at us now." Tim tries to remove the shoe, but that compels Gary to press down more. "I'm gonna have a little fun with her...that is, after I have a little fun with her." The dark-haired young man put a particular edge in the latter part of his statement. Though he could understand what Gary was saying. Tim felt himself blacking out. "And, as for your kids...well, I'm sure they'll get used to being orphans. I'm not a monster."

Tim's eyes blink rapidly; he's drifting in and out of consciousness. In his darkness, he can barely make out a figure in white. He could swear it reminded him of something he read not too long ago. He tries to wrap his mind around it. _'The young woman stood at the edge of the cliff. A stiff breeze caused her long white dress to billow and her long red hair to flow about her. _The unusual thing is that the woman's hair was dark, not red. Even as his vision grows weaker, the figure becomes clearer. The modest curve of her chest, the flow of her jet-black hair, the rims of her glasses. Tears form in her eyes, but they appear to be more out of joy than sadness. Her lips move and her voice is clear and loving:

"I love you."

Gary clamps his foot down on Tim's neck like he was stamping out a cigarette. "Any last words, Tim?"

All he can offer in response is raspy mumbling. The figment removes his foot. "Oh, sorry." After some heavy coughing...the same result. Gary crouches down, his legs on either side of Tim's left extremity. The creator moves his leg. The figment feels a pant leg brush against his own. Gary jumps back before Tim can do anything.

"Oh, no, you don't!" He lands just short of Tim's feet. "Did you really think you could fight me?" Gary takes a step closer. His foot picks up, ready to aim. "Well, let's see how you like it." Tim sees that Gary's other leg is right in the path of his legs. Tim rolls over, clamping the figment's prone leg, and sends him to the ground. Tim slides over to Gary. A foot to the crotch. One to the gut. Even when you're imaginary, it hurts.

Without thinking, Tim rushes to the bookshelf and starts flipping through the folders.

(...Charlotte's bedroom...)

Wanda floats by the kids. They still seem lost in thought. Her husband as well; this was most likely to take his mind off of the current situation.

She takes a deep breath. "Kids...I'm kind of reminded of a story."

Violet looks at her, blue eyes filled with wonder. "What kind of story?"

"Well, there was once a boy who had an imaginary friend. Not only was the friend more liked than the boy, but he was something of a jerk. The two of them had a fight and the friend was defeated."

Thomas stares with great interest. "What happened to the boy?"

"He grew up...married a wonderful woman and they had two lovely children. It was thought that the friend was safely out of the way..." Her pink-eyed gaze locks on Cosmo. "...but some of us can't lock doors!"

The twins look at each other, almost like something of great importance has occured to them. "What kind of story?"

"A fairy tale", Wanda murmurs.

"You were Daddy's fairies!", the kids exclaim. Wanda shushes them. "You were Daddy's fairies?" Ah, much quieter.

"We didn't want to tell you; Da Rules and all."

"Can we ask Daddy about you?", Thomas inquires.

"He wouldn't remember us, anyway. Besides, it's already a big risk telling you."

"Don't worry. We're really good at keeping secrets." The fairies felt very good; they knew that their kids could be trusted.

A knock at the door disrupts the reverie.

__

"Kids, is everything all right in there?"

The door opens. Virginia stands in the entry. "What's going on? I heard you yell 'Daddy!'."

"Yes. We need to get back to him."

"We miss him so much."

"So do I. Well, gather your things. We're going home."

The kids cheer.

(...Tim's mind...)

Tim stands on the ladder. He's flipped through a few shelves, but... "Damnit, where is it? It's not under 'childhood memories', so where could it be?" He glances over past shelves labelled 'useful knowledge', 'useless trivia', 'cool movie stuff' and 'fantasy files'. He stops at one labelled 'important people'. "Nah. It couldn't be there." Nonetheless, he slides the ladder over to the titled shelf and flips through the files: Mom, Dad, Vicky (without her, he would never have met Virginia). He snatches a file off and jumps down. Gary rises to his feet and limps to the table. Tim grabs the portable shredder.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Tim holds a slip of paper over the mouth of the shredder. "Cleaning house."

Gary squints at the sheet and smirks. "Nice try, but that's only the cover sheet. It provides a character sketch and a few pics that really don't do me justice. You destroy that and I'll still be around. You just won't know who I am."

"So..." Tim picks up the file. "I guess it's pretty lucky that I've got the whole file." Gary gasps in shock.

The figment steps back nervously. "Hey, hey. Can't we talk about this? How 'bout we make a deal? You get the body for the week, I get it weekends?"

Tim turns on the machine. Its buzzing is hardly music to Gary's ears. "Wait. How 'bout you get it in the day, and I take nights?" The creator's eyes narrow.

For the first time in a while, Gary wears a look of anger on his face. "You don't get it, do you? You shred that file and I'll still be around. I'm a part of you. You'll still lose!"

"It's not about winning or losing. It's about me taking control." With a yell, Gary leaps at Tim, who sticks the file inside. Little bits of confetti sprinkle about. Gary loses his carbon form and dissolves into mist. Tim feels the cloud pass through him. He switches off the machine and drops to his knees, his breathing quite labored.

"Thank God that's done." He looks around. "Now what?" Tim takes a few reverberating steps. He stops suddenly. His torso jerks back and forth, like someone is shaking him.

(...the Turner living room...)

Virginia lightly shakes Tim's still form. "Tim! Tim, please wake up!"

Thomas and Violet stand watching. "Mommy..."

She snaps her head around. "Go to your room. Now!" The words are practically screamed out. The children obey with great speed. This is one thing they did not need to see.

"Tim, wake up." The brunette collapses on his chest. "Please." She cries into his shirt.

A hand runs through her hair and massages her back. Virginia raises her head. She looks up and smiles a little. Tim returns the gesture. She looks into his eyes. Her apprehension disappears.

She wipes some of the tears from her eyes, but they won't stop coming. "Hey, stranger."

"Hey, stranger's wife."

Tim and Virginia wrap each other in perhaps the biggest hug they've ever experienced.

"Tim...what in the world happened?"

"I'll tell you what I can, but for now..." He buries his face in her hair and holds her tight.


	10. The Living End

Chapter 10 - The Living End

(...the kitchen...five minutes later...)

It had been a crazy week for the Turner family. Tim could barely remember his actions of the last few days, but he had a feeling that there was a lot to answer to. He blows on his cup of freshly brewed coffee and watches his wife bring her own steaming mug to the table.

He places his cup down. "Virginia, I can't begin to tell you how...how sorry I am. I really wasn't myself. I..."

"Tim..." She rests her hand on his. "...you shouldn't beat yourself up over this."

"But the things that happened...the things that came out of my mouth..."

The brunette pats her husband's hand. "You didn't mean them, did you? I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen you get angry in life. I'd even have fingers left over. If you don't let out your anger every once in a while, it will end up bursting out like it did with me and the kids."

"But I don't have it in me to get angry...at least I thought I didn't", he murmurs before taking a sip. "Irritated, perhaps, but not angry." Tim takes another sip, but starts to choke a little; that night at the hotel has returned to him. He coughs repeatedly, prompting Virginia to run to him and pat his back.

"Are you all right?" She stands in front of him as he regains his breath; the treatment worked.

"No. The other night, when I came home late...I was at the Hilton. Trixie Tang was there. I went up to her room..." He folds his arms on the table and buries his tear-streaked face in them. Virginia looks at him intently, but there seems to be more hurt than rage on her face.

Tim raises his head. "And Veronica was with her, and we just...I lost control. I know that nothing I say will ever make this better, but I am so very sorry. I'll do whatever I can to make this up to you."

Virginia sits back in the empty chair. She grabs Tim's hands. "Do you know why I fell for you all those years ago?"

The young man wipes his eyes. "Why?"

"Unless you have some kind of strong personality, people tend to ignore you. In school, no one paid attention to me. I may as well have been wallpaper. Then, one day...I guess you were being chased, because you ran into the nearest hiding place, which happened to be the girls' bathroom." Tim smiles nervously. "I was washing my hands, and there you were at the door. You talked to me; you acknowledged my existence. The only person close to my age who talked to me was Vicky. My nine-year-old mind may have made more of the conversation then there was, so I pursued you with all I could. I promised myself that you'd be in my life, no matter what."

"What does this have to do with...?" She puts a finger to his lips.

"There are all kinds of bullies out there, meaning to do physical harm, emotional harm and even sexual harm. If we can survive people like that, then we can survive anything."

With strengthened resolve, Tim gets up from his chair and picks up his wife. He kisses her deeply, and feels his tears returning. With a moan, she breaks away.

"But know this, Timothy Turner: you have a long way to winning back my trust."

"I know." He wraps her in a big hug and rests his head over her shoulder. "I know."

(...outside the Turner home...the next day...)

There's an old saying that goes 'Actions speak louder than words'. Tim could've spent his time apologizing, but Virginia was content to have him doing things for her.

Cleaning out the rain gutters was such a thing. Given the grunts emanating from his mouth, this was not a task he particularly enjoyed, yet here he was. The young man reached a work gloved hand into the trench and scooped out yet another handful of leaves. How long was it since these were last cleaned? Tim takes a breath and rests on the ladder a bit.

A window next to him opens. "So, how's it going?" A sparkle in the eye accompanies Virginia's question.

"Grueling. I'm almost done, though."

The brunette folds her arms on the window sill. "Well, that's nice." She takes a breath. "Tim, do you like your job?"

He looks down. Heights were never much of a problem for him. "Are you sure this is the right time or the right place?"

"I really want to know." Apparently, such details are unimportant to her. "Do you like your job?"

Tim sighs deeply.

"It's a simple 'yes or no' question."

There were times when it wasn't so bad, but there were also times where it was quite boring. Tim weighed these options in his mind. "No."

"I want you to do something for me."

"What's that?"

"Tomorrow, I want you to look for a new job."

"Look for a job? But I--"

"You walked out on the old one. Whether or not you were yourself, there must've been something behind it. And I want you to be happy. Don't _you_ want that?"

Tim bows his head. "Why are you so good to me?"

"Someone has to be." Virginia blows him a kiss and closes the window.

(...the living room...moments later...)

The dark-haired woman walks down the stairs and sits down at the computer. The blinking cursor resided at the end of a fresh paragraph on the monitor:

__

The young woman stood at the cliff's edge. She shook, almost like she was crying, but in fact, she was laughing. She hadn't kept in touch with her friends for so long. Maybe, she thought to herself, it was for the best. After all, what reason did she have to keep them in her life? One of them might end up finding out where the bodies are buried.

Virginia smiles a little and allows her fingers to dance about the keyboard.

__

"So, how have you been doing lately?"

"Much better, thank you."

(...the living room...a few hours later...)

Virginia lies on the couch, holding the book she was enjoying the previous night. She seems to be truly engrossed in the text.

"Things are going smoothly with your wife?"

Tim walks up to her and kisses her ear.

"Yes. Like silk, really."

The brunette looks up and caresses his face. She returns the gesture. The book slips away from her as she reaches her other hand to him.

"So, the other man is gone?"

"Um...yeah. We sat down with him and talked."

"Are there any more chores that need to be done?"

"He just needs to live his life without any hassle."

"Well, there are some weeds that need to be pulled outside."

"All right." Tim trudges toward the kitchen door. He had a feeling that he'd be working a while to get things back to normal. Taking a look at the pretty, caring woman on his couch, he knew it was worthwhile.

__

"I can't believe I forgot this the last time we spoke: do you have any children?"

"Yes. A boy and a girl."

(...Thomas and Violet's room...)

The children sit on their beds. Cosmo and Wanda float before them.

"How have they been adjusting these last few days?"

Violet sighs. "I'm so glad that Daddy's back to normal."

"Me, too", concurs Thomas. "Wait."

"What's wrong?"

"You were Daddy's fairy godparents, but you're not, anymore. Does that mean you'll have to leave us one day?"

__

"If there's one thing I know about my children, it's that they can handle anything."

Wanda sighs. "I'm afraid so, Thomas, but that's a long, long time from now. The important thing is to enjoy the time you have now."

"And besides, if you have people who love you, that's where real magic comes from."

"Oh, Cosmo." She grabs her husband in a hug. "That's beautiful."

"Thank you." The green-haired fairy pulls a tiny slip of paper from his pocket. "And I sure whoever wrote this thanks you, too."

Wanda reads the slip - a fortune cookie fortune - and gives her husband a questioning look...which soon softens. He knew the way to her heart: through her funny bone. Her chuckling soon extends to the youthful charges.

Violet's laughter dies down somewhat. "If we knew before that Daddy was having this problem, couldn't we have helped him?"

"This is one of those things that he needed to take care of himself."

"Besides, from a narrative standpoint, that would've been ridiculous." Cosmo waves his wand and a newspaper poofs in. The headline reads 'Kids Wish Away Father's Malady' (with the sub-header 'Hack Author Takes Easy Way Out').

The laughter resumes with greater strength.

(...Dr. Fenton's office...the next day...)

Tim lies on the couch, under the watchful eye of the psychologist.

"So, that's pretty much it, I guess."

Jasmine adjusts her glasses. "Mr. Turner, it sounds like things are going well for you, so why come back here?"

The young man gulps a bit. "Well...I realize that I may have said some hurtful things the last time I was here, and I wanted to make amends."

"Really?"

"Yes. I didn't want you to think I was some a-hole jerk who goes around insulting people."

"Mr. Turner, this may come as a shock to you, but I've dealt with much nastier patients than you. The key is getting to the heart of the problem without losing it."

(...the living room...that evening...)

__

"That sounds very effective. I don't think I'll have to worry too much about what's going on."

Virginia is lying on the couch. A hand slowly reaches out and entangles its fingers with hers. "How'd the job hunt go?"

Tim, sitting up and acting as her 'pillow', shrugs as best as he can. "A couple of people said they'd call me. I know what that means."

"It means they'll call you."

"Sure, when I'm old and too weak to do the job. If only I had a chance to work on my resume...", he states playfully.

"Hey! I'm working on my story. Besides, this whole thing kind of inspired me to take the story in a new direction."

Tim takes a breath. "Do you think I'll ever find a new job?"

"Tim, don't think like that. Of course, you will. There's plenty of work out there. The important thing is finding it."

He kisses his wife on her head. "Have I earned your trust back?"

"Not just yet, loverboy." She squeezes his hand tightly but lovingly and sighs. "Not just yet."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: This is a story that I've had in my head for a while. To me, "Escape from Unwish Island" was a poor way of bringing back the character, made all the poorer by this story. I could bore you with how much I hate what the show has become, but there will be plenty of opportunities for that in the future. For now, I hope you enjoyed this and I look forward to hearing from the faithful few kind enough to leave reviews.

Have a nice day.


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